#nearly threw hands with a 70 year old

[3pirouette]

Fic: The Paradox of an Old Man (1/1)

Title: The Paradox of an Old Man

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Spoilers: General MCU through Endgame, No Indy Spoilers

Disclaimer: They're not mine :)

Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :)

Summary: Indiana Jones may be nearly immortal, but one of the perks is that he’s lived long enough to see a few things, including finding a close friend again many times over.

A/N: So, even though I have this as a series, some of these stories DO contradict themselves. Basically, I just love playing with this idea of Indy and Steve and Peggy all knowing one another and I’m not going to go too nuts with the details, because the stories are what they are.

This one plays with the idea of Steve and Indy finding one another in the future more than once, and how that affects them both. There’s a larger story in here, but I seem to have a hard time grasping at it. For now- here’s the lighthearted side.

This if for Steggy Week 2k23 (Day 1: Headcanons and Meta - Thank you @steggyfanevents ) and also for @captainjimothycarter , whose unending love for this ridiculous universe only makes me want to write it more.

~*~

2012

Indiana Jones looked near the same as he had 70 years before, and it stunned Steve to his core.

“You were expecting an old man, weren’t you?” Jones stepped back, opening his door wide and sweeping his arm out. He smiled, just a little, as Steve moved past him into his home. “I guess we both got a surprise here.”

Steve turned, shoving his hands in his pockets, nodding. “When Fury told me you were alive…”

“No one knows why,” he threw his hands up, shrugging, before tipping his head and leading Steve into the living room. It was small and lived in, with books and tiny treasures covering every surface. Jones stacked the papers and folders on the coffee table and shoved them in a drawer next to the well-worn couch. “Though a few SHIELD scientists seem to think it has something to do with this cup I drank from…”

“A cup?” Steve looked up, confused, as he sat.

“Cup, chalice of Christ…” He shrugged and grumbled, moving to the small kitchen and pulling two bottles of beer from the refrigerator. “We couldn’t ever find it again to test it, so…” He rolled his eyes as he handed the Steve the bottle, “They think.”

Steve nodded, pulling the cap off his bottle and tapping his against Indy’s. “To old friends.”

He laughed, short and hearty. “To old friends, who both look like they did in 1945.” He took a long drink, sitting in the arm chair across from Steve. “Fury didn’t tell me what happened, just that you were back.”

“It’s a long story.”

“I know the first half,” he muttered, “how’d you survive?”

Steve smiled. “Well, they think…”

~*~

1954

“People are noticing,” Peggy started, folding her hands in front of her.

The gray in Peggy’s hair slipped simply into her chignon, a small streak of something he’d never known.

His dad had lost his hair young, and he couldn’t remember his father without gray in the hair he had left and in his beard. Indiana Jones hadn’t seen a change in his hair, except for the length, in as long as he could remember.

“Nary a wrinkle in twenty years? Yeah, they should.” Jones sat across from her in her office, shaking his head. “What are we going to do about it?”

Peggy sighed. It wasn’t easy to have to have this talk with him. He was a friend. A confidant. He was one fo the smartest men that consulted for SHIELD and sure as hell one of the few that took her leadership seriously. “The current school of thought includes special effects make-up and prosthetics.”

Indy laughed, standing. He paced the room, wringing his hands. “You’re gonna dye my hair gray?”

“Among other things.” She watched him like a tiger in a cage, heart in her throat. “That keeps you here, with us.” She looked down at her desk, tapping her nails on it gently. “The other options are much more-“

“Much more ‘run and hide’ every ten years?” His voice was dripping with sarcasm. He turned to her, shaking his head. “If it was anyone but you, Peg, telling me this-“

“You’d have laughed your way out the door by now, I know.” She stood, moving to his side. “Please, I need you to understand. Questions have been raised that we can’t ignore anymore.”

“Everyone in SHIELD has seen a lot more weird shit than a guy that doesn’t age.” He paced away from her, needing the distance. “You’re telling me you can hide the Ark of the Covenant in your yearly reports but I’m a problem?”

“You’re not a problem!” Peggy paused and amended herself, shrugging. “Most of the time.” He smiled at that, and she was happy for the moment of levity. “But this is a problem. One we can stave off for a bit but…”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have given you a hard time.” He stepped over and sat back in the chair heavily. “Truth is, people outside of here are starting to notice, too.” He looked up. “So maybe we should talk about the options.”

Peggy sat on the edge of her desk, a little calmer, and a little sadder, knowing this meant an ending was coming. “Let’s do it over dinner, shall we?”

Indy smiled slyly.

~*~

2012

Steve sat back on the sofa, beer warming on the table. “It’s good to know she had you,” he muttered. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but-“

Indy cut him off with a nod. “I see her when I can.” He looked down at his hands. “She has more bad days now than good ones.”

Steve sighed, rubbing his suddenly sweaty hands on his thighs. “I’m uh-“ he cleared his throat, hiding his emotion. “I’m just glad she had a good life.”

Jone’s eyebrows rose. “She told ya about it?”

Steve took a long swing of beer, hiding the time he needed to compose himself. “No, uh, not so much.” He sniffed and took another shorter drink. “She told me mostly about her time with the SSR and SHIELD, but she did tell me she had a family- showed me pictures of her kids and grandkids.”

Jones paused, asking when he couldn’t wait anymore. “Her husband?”

Steve shook his head, looking at the floor. “No, no. It was still- is still-“ he stopped and looked up, eyes a little haunted. “She had a lot more time to get over me than I did to get over her.”

“Still not over her,” Jones commented, drinking from his own beer.

Steve just shook his head. “How do you get over a girl like that?”

Indy stood, taking Steve’s nearly empty bottle from his hands. “Well, if you don’t want to know anything about him, I can respect that.” He slipped both bottles into one hand then let his palm sit on Steve’s shoulder for a minute before heading back into the kitchen.

~*~

2023

When the door opened, Steve was confronted with a man who hadn’t aged a day. Indiana Jones looked exactly the same, with the exception of his mouth hanging agape in surprise, as he had for nearly the last hundred years.

Steve smiled, wrinkles shifting around his face, glad he was able to surprise his friend. “You weren’t expecting an old man, were you?”

Indy stepped forward, hugging his friend. “You’re confusing this old man, now, Rogers.”

“You know well enough, Jones,” Steve pulled back, moving past him and into he home where he felt comfortable as he’d been there many, many times in his life. “I couldn’t remember the exact date-“

“Have to get you a date book with the big print now,” Jones joked, closing the door.

Steve pointed at him, only half smiling at the joke. “So I probably waited a little too long.”

“Saw your young self for the first time last week,” Jones said gently, sitting in his armchair. “You drank all my beer.”

Steve smiled, moving into the kitchen and helping himself to a bottle of water from the refrigerator. He held it up but Jones shook his head. “And ate all your food, as I recall.”

“Damn near all of it,” Indy grumbled good natured.

Steve leaned against the counter, fiddling with the water.

Jones waited patiently for the questions to come, he knew there would be questions.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He smiled. “Because you didn’t know. Because I wasn’t sure if that was how time worked. If it was a paradox that would somehow fix itself or, well, I’m sure you can guess. A million reasons, really.” He spread his hands out. “Every culture has myths about time travel, and none of them tell us what to do with the possibility of paradoxes. I didn’t think it was a good idea to mess with it.”

Steve nodded. “Fair.”

“Better be,” he smiled crookedly, “It’s the only answer I got.”

He slipped to the couch, sipping from his water. “You know, for the longest time, I thought you were the one that married Peg.”

Jones did a double take. “What?”

“You never talked about it, neither did she.” Steve shrugged. “I couldn’t find anything on it, anywhere.”

“Because we were hiding you from yourself, buddy.”

“I know that now,” Steve smiled up at him, “but back then- or now- hard to get a grip on tense with this.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I was convinced that you’d married her.”

Jones leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He took a long, slow breath, and then looked Steve in the eye. “To tell you the truth, I thought about asking her out more than once. There was a gap in there before you showed up…”

Steve leaned back, unbothered. “I wouldn’t have blamed either of you.”

“Gorgeous, smart, quick-“ He sighed, shaking his head. “But she was always yours, and I knew I made the right decision to stay her friend when you showed back up.”

The men smiled at each other. “Still, thanks for looking out for her before I got there.”

“Glad to have done it. She’s my friend, too.”

~*~

1954

“Steve!” Peggy called, unlocking the door. “We’ve got one more for dinner!”

Steve appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, apron slung around his hips and toddler upside down in his arms, smiling when he saw Jones move into the house behind Peggy. “Great.” He walked over, depositing his son in Jones’ only slightly surprised arms. “He’s all yours.”

Steve pecked Peggy on the lips before turning back to the kitchen, Jones tickling the toddler as he squirmed in his grasp, giggling. “Dinner should be ready soon.”

“What’s on the menu?” Jones asked, righting the boy in his arms and tossing him nearly to the ceiling to hear him giggle.

“Roasted chicken!” Steve called from the kitchen. “Maybe potatoes. They’re…”

A pot crashed and Peggy, Indy, and the boy paused, looking towards the empty doorway.

Steve peeked around the edge of the doorframe, apron dripping wet. “Uh- no potatoes.”

Indy huffed, passing Peggy her baby boy and pulled his hat off. “How are you one of the greatest soldiers the word has ever seen and yet incompetent int he kitchen?”

“I’m not completely incompetent,” Steve’s voice drifted as the two men disappeared.

“No, Just mostly,” Jones jabbed, moving back through the space Peggy could see to pull an apron from their cupboard and then stack a new set of potatoes in his arms. “How did you mess up boiling potatoes? Aren’t you Irish?”

“”Well, I-“

Indy was zipping through Peggy’s line of sight, and she smiled as she watched Steve trail behind him like a lost puppy. “And you grew up in Brooklyn, in the Great Depression?”

Steve paused, flopping his hands out to the sides. “Like we had money for potatoes.”

“Just… focus on the chicken before you burn the damn thing,” Jones ordered, before leaning out, smiling at Peggy. “There will be potatoes.”

Peggy just laughed, cuddling her boy to her chest.

“Oh, goodness,” she muttered, shaking ehr head, before calling back out. “I’ll be in my office, then. Don’t burn the place down please.”

Their voices, in chorus, answered her as she moved down the hall. “I won’t!” The unspoken part, full of levity, was that neither man could really be sure if the other wouldn’t, though.

Peggy wouldn’t have it any other way.

#Steggyweek23 #Steggy fic #steggyfanevents #3P’s Fic #Indiana Jones crossover

[stardustbarbarians]

Everything Leaves You Hungry

Part Two

A Samuel Kiszka / fem!reader fic

Summary: Sam gets a taste of the life.

Tags: Sam-centric, y/n isn't introduced until later on, serial killer au, addiction (but not to drugs)

Trigger Warnings: blood, death, murder (graphically described), mugging, Ohio {if I miss any please tell me}

Words: 4.6 k

A/N: Mac Saturn released their EP and this is what I do with it. Title taken from and inspired by Persian Rugs by Mac Saturn. Also this is like extremely fucked up, but I'm not gonna apologize. This is especially dedicated to @t00turnttrauma and @ofthecaravel because they were my hype team while writing this. Anyway, please enjoy!

+++

It had been about five years since the day Sam got a taste of the best euphoric experience in his life. Ever since, he’d been chasing that high. He was willing to risk his life and career to get that rush of power and exhilaration flooding his bloodstream, but he always had to keep his appetite on a very, very tight leash. Despite having to live with the constant need buzzing just beneath his skin like an itch you can’t scratch, he hardly ever satiated that desire. 

Why? 

Well, murder is frowned upon in all fifty states as well as in every country around the world. 

Sam could tell you what happened that night five years ago like it was yesterday; it was something he often revisited in his mind. He was still in high school at that time, a member of the student council. The council all got together for a float decorating party at the president’s house, homecoming right around the corner and the seniors wanting to get a jump on their float. It was well past dark when they finished, rain dumping out onto the streets of rural Frankenmuth. Sam had been waiting for Jake to come and pick him up for twenty minutes, standing on the street corner they agreed to meet at. 

He’d long since been soaked to the bone, nothing to shield him from the severe rain. Calling Jake wasn’t an option; his phone died at the meeting. He had to make a choice, either walk back to his fellow council member’s house or just make the half an hour walk himself. 

Since he was already drenched, Sam threw caution to the wind and began trekking towards his house. He decided to take the route that Jake takes to drive him, that way if he did eventually show up their paths would cross. It was quite relaxing, despite the pouring rain. It was a fairly safe walk, just farmhouse after farmhouse and long stretches of fields in between; save for one section. There was an old steel mill that had shut down in the 70s and it was always in the news; people ODing there or murder victims being found within the decaying walls. One time there was even evidence of satanic worship found in the building which just nearly got the city to tear it down. However, they never could scrape up enough funds for that. 

Usually, driving past the bowing chain link fences that were tangled with weeds sprouting out of the cracking concrete was safe enough. Considering Sam was walking, that put him at risk. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he strode past the crumbling structure, his eyes darting frantically around the dark for any threats. His sight was the only sense he could rely on, the roaring patter of rain plummeting into the ground like omnipresent static hindering his hearing significantly. Sam blames that on how he found himself with the business end of a knife pressed to his throat. 

“Give me your wallet, pretty boy,” someone hissed into his ear. Sam immediately put his hands up, his blood turning cold. 

“I’ll give it to you, I’ll give it to you,” he rushed out, his tone distressed. He frantically searched his pockets, patting down his jeans and his leather jacket. It was while he was searching his jacket that he found the box knife he’d used at the council meeting to open the packaging on their float decorations. 

Without thinking too much, Sam pushed the blade out of the handle with the button and slashed at his attacker’s arm. The knife left his throat, the man he injured screaming out in agony. Sam whipped around to face him, his eyes taking in the sight of a vagabond clutching his arm as blood gushed out of a gaping wound, the rain attempting to keep up with the flow of gore and wash it away. Using the distraction to his advantage, Sam wasted no time swinging the box cutter into the side of the mugger’s neck. He managed to sever the carotid artery, blood streaming from his neck and onto Sam’s hand. It was warm, comforting against the chilly September weather. 

He was mesmerized by the way the red oozed out of the gaps in the drifter’s fingers that he pressed against the wound. They both knew he wasn’t going to survive; that reality left a wild look in the attacker’s eyes as he seemed to desperately beg Sam for an answer to why. Sam was frozen in place. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the way the life seeped out of the vagabond, the fight for his life something so enticing to Sam. 

He was expecting to feel a crushing dread fall upon him like an anvil as his victim ceased moving, a crumpled shell of a man lying hopelessly in the dirt. Instead, he felt a sense of power and euphoria thundering through his veins. The adrenaline rush left Sam feeling like he was invincible, a weightlessness hovering him from the clutches of the tethers of reality. 

There was a small voice at the back of his mind that was telling him he needed to flee the scene. He stumbled back from the body, his legs feeling numb and having a mind of their own. Closing his eyes and letting the moment sink in, Sam took a deep breath and returned himself to normal. He walked away from his crime just as he had walked into it; like he hadn’t just committed an act of god. 

He didn’t throw the box knife away. He didn’t even put it back into his pocket. He kept it in his hand and let the rain wash away his sin. 

The rest of his trip home went off without a hitch. Sam, upon turning onto his block, finally tucked the box knife into his jacket. He didn’t even bother knocking as he strode right though the front door. The twins, who were watching Psycho, jumped at the sound of the door opening. They visibly relaxed when they realized it was just their brother. Then Jake seemed to remember that he was supposed to have picked Sam up from the council meeting, his eyes as wide as dinner plates and his body as rigid as a 2x4. 

“Shit, Sam, I’m so sorry,” he quickly apologized, fearing the wrath that might come from forgetting his little brother. He kept glancing at Josh, pleading with him to help him out. 

“Don’t worry about it. I got to go for a relaxing walk,” Sam dismissed, waving his hand at Jake and toeing off his soaked converse. They had made squishing sounds with each step he took. 

The twins wore matching expressions of pure shock. Typically, Sam would’ve been so pissed off he would’ve tore them both to shreds with his wrath. Never before had they seen him be so calm over such an inconvenience. 

“Y-you’re not mad?” Josh timidly inquired. He was expecting to have to wrangle Sammy away from Jake that night. 

“Nope,” Sam answered, popping the P in the word. He flashed them both a brilliant smile, wringing his hair out in the kitchen sink that was across from the living room. 

Josh and Jake shared a look with one another, having one of those silent conversations. When he was done squeezing the water out of his hair, Samuel stepped into the living room. Noticing his presence, they turned to look at him. 

“What’s on your shirt?” Jake questioned, pointing at the orange-ish pink spot on Sam’s white shirt. The youngest pulled the fabric away from his skin, regarding it. 

“Shit, I knew paint was a bad idea,” he smoothly lied. He was so glad at that moment that their school colors were red; it made the lie all the more convincing. His brothers seemed convinced, accepting the possibility of Sam using paint at his float party. With no further questions, Sam went upstairs to get changed out of wet clothes. 

For the weeks following that night, Sam kept an eye on the news. It took a day or two, but his murder eventually made it on the air. The story only covered the basics of the incident: a man was found dead outside the Cass Steel Mill, a slash on his arm and stabbed in the neck. A police investigation was opened, but the running theory was that he got into a fight with another drifter over territory. 

That was the end of it. Despite opening a case on the murder, the authorties didn’t spend too many resources on it. It went cold. 

Sam got away with murder. 

It started an insidious chain reaction inside of Sam. He felt like a god; nothing could match him or defeat him. It was the most addictive thing he’d ever known. 

+++

After that night, he was left with the insatiable need to chase that high buzzing just beneath his skin constantly. However, he didn’t give in until almost a year later. The reason he was holding back wasn’t due to the fact that he was afraid of who he became; it was due to the fact that he didn’t want to push his luck. 

Making it big with the band and going on tour was great because he was able to live his dream of becoming a professional musician and all, but it was amazing because he was able to hop around city to city and hardly leave a trace. He had an excuse to constantly be running away from his crimes. He was never a suspect because he was never around when the bodies were found. He learned to keep the weapons with him after his first went cold without a weapon found and he also never used the same one twice. If there wasn’t a pattern, then there was no way to connect any of his killings. 

There were moments where he felt a ghost of what could’ve been fear at what he was capable of, his inability to feel anything close to remorse for taking people’s lives, but he was able to easily tune it out with his fervent need. There was nothing that could stop him short of his own death. 

Despite being hyper aware of his own invincibility, Sam still kept an eye on the news at all times. There was a difference between knowing your abilities and arrogance and Sam was frequently keeping himself in check to prevent himself from slipping towards the latter. However, he wasn’t infallible. While trying to emulate the role of the gods, Sam didn’t realize he was in fact playing the part of Icarus. It was while they played a show in Ohio, because of course it was in Ohio. Nothing good ever happens in that wretched place. 

As usual, the niggling craving for blood was vying for his attention. But that night, it was so incredibly strong that Sam couldn’t concentrate. He felt as if every synapsis in his brain was begging him to slake his thirst, but it went even beyond the mental. It was affecting him physically, as well. His heartbeat could be heard thumping within his chest by his own ears, his vision going in and out of focus with each contraction of his heart, and his hands shaking like a Parkinson's patient. He was irritable, speaking only in a clipped tone and snapping at anyone who dared to converse with him. 

Jake and Josh, who were used to such behavior from their brother, just rolled their eyes at Sammy and basically ignored him. Daniel noticed. He knew it wasn’t normal for Samuel to be behaving so irate. 

“Sam, what is going on with you,” the drummer questioned after pulling him aside from his brothers. Danny was prepared to get into an argument with his best friend, prepared to fight to get an answer out of him, but it seemed he didn’t need to. 

“I’m having really bad withdrawals,” Sam sharply explained. He wasn’t lying, just omitting what he was feeling so deprived of. 

Concern flashed across Daniel’s face before Sam turned around and walked away.

“Where are you going?” Danny called out after the bassist. 

“For a walk,” he answered right before the hotel room door slammed behind him. 

The muggy night air only added to Samuel’s irritation, the soupy air making it even harder for him to breathe. He didn’t even know where he was going, all he knew was that he needed to find someone and fast. He wandered the streets of Cincinnati, searching for the perfect victim. It took a while and he was starting to get severely agitated over it all. He got so annoyed that he in fact made a vital mistake; but he wouldn’t discover that until later. 

Sam finally found someone walking alone in a part of the city that was dim enough so that any surveillance footage would be practically useless. She made the mistake of cutting through an alley, not even looking over her shoulder to see if anyone was following. The moment she vanished from view was the moment Sam’s stride got faster, using those long legs of his to his advantage. He caught up with her soon enough, his arms wrapping around her waist and then her mouth to muffle her screams; as much as he wanted to hear them it was far too risky. 

Once in his grasp, he wrangled her to the wall, throwing her against the brick before his hand found her mouth again. They were face to face, her eyes wide with fear and panic. He’d give anything to know what was going through her mind at that moment, but his withdrawals were far too strong to play such games as those. He pressed her against the wall for a few more seconds as he retrieved his weapon of choice: a screwdriver. It wasn’t ideal, but he was pressed and it was the best thing he could find on tour without having to spend money and leave a trace. 

Finally in hand, Sam took the screwdriver and forced it into the spot where her neck and shoulder meets. Blood instantly bubbled out of her wound, his hand still pressed against her as she attempted to scream and fight him. He wasn’t focused on that. His attention was drawn to the way her life slowly eased out of the gaping wound and the spark of life extinguished from her eyes. 

Finally, his insatiable need was quieted. He was breathing heavily, his euphoria thundering through his veins. He felt satisfied for the first time in months. He felt as if he could breathe, the oppressive need was no longer smothering him. Tipping his head back, he reveled in the feeling of freedom it gave him. 

His craving satiated, Sam yanked the screwdriver out of his victim’s neck and watched as she slumped to the ground without his hands to support her weight. To throw the cops off even further, he riffled through her purse and removed her wallet. That way they would believe that it was a robbery gone wrong instead of a serial killer. He never used the money that he took from his victims as it would help the cops trace him down. Usually, he tossed them out the window of his tour bus or threw them in the incinerator of the venues he played. 

With her wallet in his pocket, he walked away from the scene, careful not to take the same route he came. He didn’t know that an officer witnessed him walking out of that alley until years later. 

+++

They were back in Cincinnati once again. It had been three years since Sam had killed that woman in the alley; a thought that placed a small phantom smile upon his lips each time it entered his conscious mind. There was a fleeting moment where he thought about visiting that alley again for old time’s sake, but he knew that was foolish. 

This visit to the Ohio metropolis was considerably more relaxing for Sam than that last one was. He’d quenched his addiction a week before his return, marking that as his ninth victim. He was laying around their hotel room, staring at the ceiling and groaning about how bored he was. Daniel was in the room with him, laying on his own bed and reading a book while ignoring his best friend. 

It was quiet in the room, save for the humming of the air conditioner in the room making the curtains billow. Sam hated the quiet. There was nothing to distract him from the haunting wails that were a persistent soundtrack to his waking moments. Their utter panic as they realized that their last moments would be spent with him. The guilt that maybe what he was doing was-

“If you’re so bored, go find something to do,” Danny suggested in a dismissive tone, beginning to be at his limits with Sam. 

Sam looked over at Daniel, hanging his head off the side of the mattress. His long chestnut hair cascaded down against the stark white sheets, his eyes almost rolled into his head to properly see Danny from his position. His face was starting to turn red from all the blood rushing to his head. 

“Fine. I’m going out,” he stated, springing up from his spot on the bed and began padding around his hotel room. He stripped himself of his casual white button up and tiny running shorts and replaced them with a nicer pair of black dress slacks and red satin shirt. Before Daniel could stop him, he was out the door. 

He cabbed over to the nearest bar and upon entering, began scanning the room to see if there was anyone that could potentially fulfill his appetite - despite having claimed another life the week prior. Sam found it was the only thing that he found himself craving most of the time. 

When he took that first vagrant’s life, he tried to satiate his desires with other things. But no matter how many women he slept with or illegal substances he filled his veins with, that craving wouldn’t go away. Once you taste the life, everything leaves you hungry. 

Not finding anyone who suited his taste, Sam just sauntered over to the bar and ordered a drink. He finished that first drink when a woman dressed in a revealing dark forest green satin dress approached him. Immediately, Sam’s guard was up. He didn’t want to  deal with fans tonight and even if she wasn’t a fan, there was something in the way she carried herself that seemed off. He kept scanning her, trying to figure out what it was about her when she talked to him. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” she prompted Sam, leaning against the bar in a way that made her breasts stand out. Sam huffed out a small laugh, figuring that he’d turn on the charm and solve her puzzle. It was something to pass the time, at the very least. 

“Probably not. I’m here on business,” he explained. He didn’t want to give away too much information. 

“Oooooooo, so he’s mysterious. C’mon, mystery man, what business are you on dressed like that?” she pushed, leaning in closer to him. Her drink was placed in front of her by the bartender. 

“You’re telling me you know how to tell people’s jobs by how they dress?” Sam asked, thinking it would be a good way to try and prod her for information about herself. 

For a second, her eyes flashed with something close to fear. But fear at what? Did he step too close to the truth? 

“It’s something of a parlor trick of mine,” she explained away, taking a sip of her drink to buy her some time. 

“Do go on,” Sam prompted, turning the situation around on her. Now he was the one in control of the situation and putting her on the spot. 

The woman went on to point to different patrons and guess what profession they worked in based solely upon their appearance. There were a lot of different factors that played into her profiling, mostly how pricey their clothes and accessories were. It was when she got the person on her right spot on with his job that Sam finally figured it out. 

“What’s your name, darling?” 

She was a cop. 

“Y/N.” 

“I’m Sam. What do you say we get out of here?” 

She accepted, following him out of the bar and flagging down a cab. During the car ride over, Sam texted Daniel to ask if he was in the room. He wasn’t. 

It was a flurry of kissing and roaming touch once the door to his room was unlocked. She all but ripped Sam’s shirt off, throwing him onto the bed. She was quick to climb on top of him, straddling his hips and swallowing his breath out of his mouth when she pressed her lips back onto his. It happened so quickly and Sam was beginning to feel like he was getting whiplash. 

He blames that on why he was so unprepared for there to be a knife against his throat. 

“Alright, pretty boy. You’re gonna tell me where your murder weapons are, or I’m gonna have to put a hole through that gorgeous throat of yours,” she threatened, her demeanor completely changed over from the woman Sam met at the bar. 

“You think I’m that pretty, huh?” 

Without another word, she took the butt of the handle and cracked it across the high point of his cheekbone. It would leave a bruise. 

“Shit! I thought cops couldn’t hit people like that!” he hissed, his hands up in surrender. 

“Good thing I’m not a cop, then,” she haughtily replied, once again pressing the knife against his throat. 

Sam just gave her a confused look as he tried to figure out who she was. 

“It really is a good thing you’re pretty. I’m a bounty hunter.” 

Once she revealed her profession, everything clicked into place. 

“They don’t have any solid evidence on me, huh,” he taunted, his hands sliding underneath his head to prop it up. 

“What makes you think that?” Her head cocked to the side, her overconfidence showing in that simple gesture. 

“Well, if they’re sending you after me, the cops must be pretty desperate. Tell me, how did they name me as a suspect and for what murder?” He was stalling and they both knew it. 

“Why the hell would I tell you?” 

Sam chuckled dark and low. He was hardly intimidated by this woman, but he also needed to play his cards right. He needed to keep her talking; keep her distracted. 

“I tell you what: you tell me what I want to hear, and I’ll give you something that you want. How does that sound, sweetheart?” He only ever used “sweetheart” when he was being condescending. 

“Something I want, huh? And what might that be?” Her tone was sultry, almost like honey. It was a sharp contrast against the cold steel pressed into his flesh. 

“What are they paying you? I can more than double it,” he offered, not even a hint of fear in his blood as she applied a little bit of pressure with the knife. 

“Hmmm, cute. But I don’t need the money.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. He really didn’t want to play by her rules, but he needed to know what the cops knew about him. “Fine. I’ll get you the murder weapon.” 

“There we go, sweetheart. We have a deal,” she announced, refusing to remove the weapon from his throat. 

“Start talking, doll. I have a show I need to be on stage for tomorrow, I can’t be here forever,” he impatiently prompted. 

“You were spotted leaving the area of Chelsea Murdock’s murder around the estimated time of death by an officer on patrol that night,” she informed, her hair slipping off her shoulders as she leaned into his ear to speak again: “Not as invincible as you thought you were, huh, pretty boy?” 

Sam growled in frustration. Of course the only time he slipped up was during the only murder he commited in Ohio. 

“Now, get me that screwdriver, or I change the color of these sheets to red,” she hissed, sitting up properly and pressing the knife a little harder against Sam’s throat. 

“You’re awfully cocky if you think I’m gonna do what you say,” Sam argued, his bratty streak still shining through despite the life threatening situation he was in. But, he really wasn’t concerned. You can’t kill a god. 

“We had a deal, Samuel!” she bellowed, her other hand fisting into Sam’s hair in an extremely painful grip. 

“That I never agreed to.” 

Just when - for a fleeting moment - Sam thought that he was about to experience the last thing his victims experience before their lights went out, he was met with a warm spray of liquid against his face. That warmth then pooled onto his stomach as her blood flowed down her torso and onto Sam. He allowed himself to revel in the feeling of that crimson ichor blessing his skin; something he wasn’t allowed to experience very often in his life.

Her lifeless corpse slumped onto the bed to the left of Sam. He only knew that because he could feel her weight shifting the mattress. He had closed his eyes in order to properly enjoy his religious experience

“Sam?” It was shaky, but it didn’t sound afraid. 

The bassist finally snapped his eyes open to see Daniel Wagner standing at the foot of the bed. There was a knife in his right hand that was covered in blood, the red staining his hand as well. There was a wild look in his eyes, but it wasn’t fear. He’d seen that look on Danny’s face after a really euphoric performance on stage. 

Was that what I looked like after my first time?

“What are you feeling, Daniel?” he asked, out of breath. This truly was his dream come true. 

The drummer looked at his right hand and gulped. It was shaking as he gazed upon it, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the blood sluggishly dripping down his arm. 

“Maybe there really is something to what you’ve been saying… Y’know, about feeling… god-like,” Danny answered. It was adamantly clear that he was very unsure about everything, but Sam would be there to coach him through it. 

“I told you,” he began, his voice strained as he pushed the corpse off of him, “it’s an experience second to none.” 

Danny was as rigid as a board as Sam approached him. His gaze was now locked onto the bounty hunter’s lifeless body, the gears turning inside that brilliant mind of his. 

“What do we do now, Sam?” The tremor in his voice was slowly dissipating with each passing second. 

“Now,” Sam took the knife out of Daniel’s hand, “we call the cops.” He pressed it against his lips under Danny’s watchful eye. Samuel watched as a shiver traveled across his best friend’s body, their eye contact unbroken. 

They did call the cops. The pair of musicians explained that they had to kill her out of self-defense. She was trying to rob Sam, threatening him with a knife. She knew who he was and how successful he was. When Danny came into the room he did what he had to in order to save his best friend’s life. 

The case went under investigation, but ultimately the murder was rulled in self-defense. 

Sam Kiszka and Daniel Wagner got away with murder. 

And they would continue to get away with murder. 

+++

Taglist:

@doodle417 @sammykiszkasunusedshoes @jmks-housewife @ageoferin @alwayssotiredbutneverofyou @etoilesnoor @ascendingtostardust @godlygreta @s0livagant @gretavanflowerpower @morganic-goods @dannythedog @baguettejuliette @fan-girl-97 @gaby-gvf @age-of-nyahh @mzbrightside @myownparadise96 @xserenax-13 @sammysvanfeet @loofypoofy @chalametpwk @seventieswhore @razorbladekiszka @kdarling1 @capturethechaos @unfortunatelykristin @welightthefire @gretavanfleas @sammiejane22 @satanplayshisfluteforhim @starsasone @mintysammykiszka

Taglist form

#greta van fleet #greta van fic #sam kiszka #sam kiszka x y/n #sam kiszka x reader #sammy kiszka #sammy gvf #danny wagner #daniel robert wagner #danny gvf #josh kiszka #jake kiszka #josh gvf #jake gvf #serial killer au

[revenge-is-dead]

Ghostly Hands and Spaces Spoken

Waking up to the man who had nearly killed you several times. Floating a couple inches above the floor staring at you with a deeply saddened look and ghostly tears falling down his cheeks and disappearing into the void.

He sat up in bed and stared at the older man (was he older now since he’s been dead for so long?), who was roughly 25 when he died. Jay couldn’t stop himself from starting to hyperventilate, said man had terrorized himself both in reality and within his mind for years in his dream.

“Leave, Leave me the fuck alone. I know you’re not real you son of a bitch” He was so tired, normally he didn’t swear all too much, but being around Tim caused him to become more like a sailor. Jessica had given him a sailor hat for him for his 35th birthday as a joke.

The slightly see-through version of Alex Kralie, who looked like on the day he laid on the floor of Benedict Hall. Finally gone and dead. The form jerked back and flinched. The tears streamed down the pale face quicker before disappearing.

Jay sat there rubbing at his oily face, rubbing at his eyes before promptly fixing his blankets and turning over to go back to sleep. His skinny form pressing more into the squishy mattress. The tension once in his shoulders slipped, before completely going back into the world of his Mono-colored dreams.

—-

The second time he was met with the pale ghostly figure of his ex-best friend was when Jay was cooking in the kitchen. The feeling of someone being behind him becoming too overwhelming. For god’s sake he was handling a pan on the stovetop.

Turning quickly to see what was behind him. A sharp pain in his elbow at him hitting a mason jar he had some of his water in. Using practically anything he could that could be used as a cup, so he didn’t have to purchase more stuff. A collection of mason jars, old sauce glasses and jars became his welcomed drinkware.

He watched as the glass fell about two inches towards the tiled kitchen floor before a pair of thin arms and hands grabbed the jar and placed it back onto the countertop. Familiar handmade wristbands on said wrists before they simply weren’t there again.

Taking food off of the hot stove making sure it wouldn’t burn. Jay turned to the fridge, pressing his warm forehead against the cool metal. Surely, he was going insane, which frankly he should have gone insane SEVERAL years ago. Hope being the only thing keeping him going and somewhat sane. It's hard to have hope when you don’t know what the fuck is going on.

Pushing off the cold comfort of the fridge, he went back to making his dinner. His eyes darted around the apartment, anxiety of what might come next. The Operator? The masked figures? He really couldn’t know, trying to have his heartbeat lessen as he ate his frankly delicious pasta.

—-

The next occurrence when he came home to his warm apartment. Soaking wet from a sudden thunderstorm, his whole body completely and utterly cold. His coat, hoodie and jeans were completely soaked through. Leaving Jay incredibly uncomfortable, huffing as he threw down his jacket and gloves, he detested but wore when it got too cold. He stomped to his room, taking a small note of how the cartage to the thermostat was hanging open.

Once he was dried off with one of his fluffy towels, in a long-sleeved sweater and some gray sweatpants and hiker socks. He walked back through the hallway. Closing the Thermostats cartage and looking at the temp. It was now a comfortable 70 Fahrenheit or 21 Celsius. He did not at all remember turning it up or having even touched it in the past weeks. Squinting at it before going back to the entrance to his apartment, going to hang up the sopping mess of his coat and gloves before they ruined the hardwood floor.

Walking up. He just stood there, looking at the wet sheen on the floor. His coat and mittens have been hung up on the coat rack on the back of his heavy wooden door. He fricken knew he didn’t at all put them, he actually threw them down in frustration and overstimulation.

Running his hand through his short hair, scratching at his scalp before sighing, rubbing the bags under his eyes before going to the kitchen to heat up some tea and make popcorn. He was too tired and cold for this shit.

—-

Today was the weekend, meaning Jay didn’t have to work at the library today. Tammy was aggressive over the weekend shifts, saying they were her time to ‘Get away from her kids and have some peace and quiet’. Jay frankly thought she needed therapy, allowing her to take the days and allowing him to have some time to himself at home.

It was around 6 pm, the sun started to set, leaving the warm light to pass through his windows as he watched some YouTube learning about some lost media that had caught his attention when passing through the suggested videos. The room grew colder, shifting, pulling the blanket completely over his lap he cocked his head when he saw the video suddenly stop.

Messing through his nest trying to find the remote and to see if he accidentally stopped it. Only to see it on his well-loved long coffee table. Grabbing the remote trying to un-pause the video, hitting the button three times before he huffed and tried to get up. A clearing of a throat before he froze in his position.

Glancing around a second before his eyes caught a see-through man, shots of warm light pushing through his chest as he sat in the lazy boy chair, he had sex up for Brian when he came over. Meeting the dull brown eyes of Alex Kralie.

“God, i'm hallucinating again aren’t I”

“No, you aren’t. Just being haunted.” Good, even better Jay thought before his mind caught up. Yeah, Alex had just spoken to him. The man who had been dead for ten years. He just blinked a couple times before chuckling bitterly.

“I need new fucking meds, don’t I?” This got a sigh and a rolling of the eyes from Maybe-not-Real-Alex. Jay just rubbed his hands through his hair anxiously and looked all over the pale blue-ish man. He was sitting stiff in the chair, like he knew he didn’t belong or was even welcomed. His hands laid out on his thighs. His clothes didn’t hold the grime Jay knew would have been there. Dirt, glass, twigs, mud and blood have stained most of the familiar clothing. He was just sitting there, looking incredibly uncomfortable and making micro movements Jay picked up. Like he wasn’t trying to scare him off.

“Jay, I wanted to talk to you” The words left the dry dead lips of Alex. They held so much consideration, sadness and hurt that it threw him off guard a bit.

“Yeah yeah okay. Um, go ahead?” He responded, what the fuck was he supposed to say? ‘No sorry dude, you’re not real and you tried to kill me’.

“First of all, I'm sorry I have been making you feel like you’re going insane. I really didn’t mean to cause that. Or even cause you any more stress.” There was a pause before he continued. “I also want to apologize to you, for everything. For nearly killing you several times, verbally and mentally abusing you. Being a huge fucking dick in general.” The hands were now pulling at the holes in the jeans, ripping them more open, though no noise caught Jay’s ears.

“I-I. When I died, I laid in the body for hours. I knew in some form of whatever the fuck was happening. I was being tortured for what I did in life. What I did in my final years. I stared at the ceiling for hours, my mind and body having finally been cleared from all of the cobwebs of. IT.” Alex said, still looking down at his jeans. And Jay was hit with the pain. Alex knew what he was doing but couldn’t stop it. He was altered, his body working without his want. His chest tightened and he let out a whimper.

“I'm sorry, i'm so fucking sorry. I'm sorry I wasn’t strong enough to fight it, to not hurt you guys. I didn’t want to let it win, and when I first died. I was so happy Tim had killed me. Ended it all. Before I opened my eyes and knew. In a new form. I was still alive.” The thin hands tightened, becoming even whiter at the pain radiating off of Alex.

Before Jay even knew it. He was off of the couch kneeling in front of the lazy boy. His own legs phasing through Alex with a gasp. Trying to hug the cold air that was there. There was a moment of silence, where he could tell that it wasn’t working in any form. His shoulders slumping as he holds his arms awkwardly in the air. Before he felt cold pressure of hands on his back and a press into his shoulder.

“Alex, I'm sorry that I wasn’t there for you. I'm sorry that I brought your living nightmare back to you again. To make it even worse.” He felt his long-sleeved worn-out shirt being scrunched up. The sound of a voice coming close but softly near his right ear.

“Jaybird, don’t apologize to me, I should be yelling sorries to you until I cannot” As he started to move away, Jay felt the cold pressure let go quickly before he sat on the floor in a way more comfortable position.

“I forgive you.” He stared blankly at the blue-ish see-through man in front of him. Alex just stared back at him. Eyes wide and mouth open and gaping. Jay took notice of the bandage now wrapped around the thin neck, hiding away the fatal wound that had killed him.

“...Why”

“It's been ten years for start, and about a year after me, Tim and Brian moved away. I started therapy. I have gotten over your death in the best part I can. I separate college you from, Sickness you.” He spoke matter of factly. Picking at his cuticles as he waited for the other to respond.

“But- when you caught me watching over you- you. Acted like. You spoke with such hate” The taller man whimpered, messing with his clothes again with such anxiety, it made Jay wish he could grab the other’s hand and keep it still.

#writing #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfic masterlist #jay merrick #alex kralie #Ghost Alex Kralie #Older Jay Merrick #Jay is a year younger than Alex #he was 19 when Alex was 20 #haunting the person you tried to kill #tim wright #brian thomas #jessica locke #mentions of characters #multiple part series #marble hornets production #marble hornets au #marble hornets #jay merrick lives #brian thomas lives #alex kralie is fucking dead

[ailtrahq]

In a meticulous and comprehensive analysis shared on X, prominent analyst Will Clemente delved deeply into Bitcoin’s current stance against the prevailing macroeconomic landscape, connecting broad fiscal trends with the future trajectory of the digital asset. Bitcoin’s Genesis And Modern Economic Constructs Clemente initiates his exposition with a reference to Bitcoin’s present situation, where despite facing a decline of nearly 70% from its 2021 highs, its potential remains undiminished. He reminded readers of Bitcoin’s inception, born out of the tumultuous aftermath of the 2008 financial crisis. Satoshi Nakamoto, Bitcoin’s elusive creator, envisioned it as an antidote to the “moral hazard and incentives set in place” that could disrupt the very “fabric of financial perception.” Supporting his argument, Clemente threw a spotlight on the alarming debt growth: over the last 15 years, the “federal debt as a percentage of GDP (The US economy’s output) has ascended from 60% to a staggering 120% today.” This surge in debt stands in sharp contrast to the actual growth of the US economy. He elaborated, “Even though the economy’s growth exceeded expectations, registering 2.4% (annualized) in the recent second quarter, public debt overshadowed it by swelling 2.7%, which annualizes to an unsettling 10.8%.” This disparity, Clemente warns, places the U.S. in a challenging position. Bridging this gap mandates either a herculean economic growth driven by groundbreaking innovations or a stringent curb on debt, which seems politically implausible given the “incentives to be liked and re-elected.” The Looming Debt Issue Broadening his analysis, Clemente addresses the demographic shifts, particularly the financial implications of the aging baby boomer generation. The burden of their social security programs falls on a younger, financially strained working class, intensifying the fiscal strain. So, given this increasing debt, how does the U.S. intend to address it? Clemente suggests that the solution might lie in monetary debasement, an economic maneuver where the value of currency is deliberately reduced. He elucidated this concept: “By inflating the monetary base (by, for instance, printing more money), debt can be paid back in nominal terms, but its real value (adjusted for inflation or debasement) gets effectively reduced.” Navigating Assets in a Debasing Economy Turning his lens to assets in such an environment, Clemente posed the vital question: Which assets are poised to thrive in a constantly debasing economy? He scrutinized a variety of options from stocks, which have shown consistent growth, to real estate, commodities, and venture capital. Equities have been dependable for many, but Clemente pointedly remarks that when adjusted for the M2 money supply growth, the returns of indices like the S&P 500 are not as remarkable. “Interestingly, relative to M2 money supply, the S&P 500 has barely made new highs. This hints at stocks being susceptible to the very debasement that affects fiat currencies”, Clemente noted. Real estate, while a tangible hedge against inflation, suffers from illiquidity. On the other hand, venture and angel investing, though potentially lucrative, have barriers that might keep average citizens at bay. Commodities like gold have been age-old shields during financial unrest. However, in Clemente’s view, Bitcoin emerges as a formidable contender in this space. Post its next halving, Bitcoin’s stock-to-flow ratio—a measure of scarcity—will outstrip both gold and silver. Beyond metrics, Bitcoin’s inherent properties, such as portability and verifiability, cement its position as a unique financial instrument. While recent monetary policies like rate hikes have impacted Bitcoin’s short-term value, Clemente stresses that the long-term scenario shaped by unchecked fiscal policies remains. In this landscape, Bitcoin, with its algorithmically limited supply, could offer a resilient hedge against central bank-induced debasement.

Global Sentiments & Bitcoin’s Ascendance Broadening his vista, Clemente references a United Nations report to elucidate the global sentiment. A noticeable rise in negative news, coupled with declining global living standards, sets the stage. This pessimism, combined with a heightened political polarization globally, paints a grim picture. Delving into the root causes, Clemente identifies monetary debasement as a probable driving factor. He explained, “The continuous expansion of the money supply enriches asset holders, yet makes asset acquisition increasingly insurmountable for those without them.” This widening chasm, he proposes, is propelling a societal shift towards disillusionment with the traditional system. Concluding his exhaustive analysis, Clemente accentuates that these intertwined economic, sociopolitical, and demographic factors collectively create a fertile ground for the ascendancy of Bitcoin. Its digital nature, combined with the inherent scarcity and decentralized ethos, positions it as a viable alternative in an increasingly unstable financial landscape. In his own words, when forecasting the cryptocurrency’s potential over an extended period, Clemente succinctly stated, “All to say, over a decade plus time horizon, orange coin good.” At press time, BTC traded at $27,112. History repeating itself for BTC price?, 1-day chart | Source: BTCUSD on TradingView.com Source

[brn1029]

On this date in music history…

August 8th

2019 - The Beatles

Thousands of Beatles fans made a pilgrimage to London's Abbey Road 50 years after the group walked over its zebra crossing for the cover of the last album the band recorded. Transport for London said two bus routes were briefly diverted as queues to cross the road blocked access.

2017 - Glen Campbell

American singer, guitarist, songwriter, television host, and actor Glen Campbell died in Nashville, Tennessee at the age of 81. He became a patient at an Alzheimer's long-term care and treatment facility in 2014. Campbell released more than 70 studio albums and sold 45 million records worldwide. His hits include: 'By the Time I Get to Phoenix', 'Wichita Lineman', 'Galveston' and 'Rhinestone Cowboy'. His guitar playing can be heard on ‘Strangers in the Night’ by Frank Sinatra, ‘You've Lost That Lovin' Feelin'‘ by The Righteous Brothers and ‘I'm a Believer’ by The Monkees.

2016 - Led Zeppelin

The judge overseeing Led Zeppelin's 'Stairway To Heaven' trial ruled against the band and their publishing company's attempts to recoup nearly $800,000 in legal fees. While a federal jury determined that Led Zeppelin were not guilty of plagiarizing Spirit's 'Taurus' in a copyright infringement trial, judge R. Gary Klausner ruled that, since the lawsuit itself was not frivolous and meritless, the estate of Spirit guitarist Randy (California) Wolfe and their attorney Francis Malofiy were not obligated to repay the defendants' legal fees.

2010 - John Lennon

John Lennon's killer, Mark David Chapman, had his parole hearing delayed until early September so that officials could gather additional information. The 55-year-old Chapman became eligible for parole in 2000 after serving 20 years, but had been denied his freedom five times.

1996 - Kiss

Kiss appeared at the Riverfront Coliseum in Cincinnati, Ohio on their 192 date Alive World Tour. During this show a fan threw his fake leg on stage, which all the members signed and handed back to him.

1986 - Crosby, Stills and Nash

David Crosby of Crosby, Stills and Nash was released from prison after serving three years for drug and weapons possession. His conviction would be overturned by a Texas appeals court in November 1987.

1981 - MTV

MTV broadcast its first stereo concert with REO Speedwagon who performed in Denver, Colorado, having just released the album Hi Infidelity and the hit singles, ‘Keep On Loving You,’ ‘Take It On the Run’ and ‘Don’t Let Him Go.’

1980 - Plasmatics

The Greater London Council banned The Plasmatics from blowing a car up on stage during their UK live debut at London's Hammersmith Odeon.

1970 - Janis Joplin

Janis Joplin bought a headstone for the grave of her greatest influence Bessie Smith at the Mount Lawn Cemetery in Philadelphia. Blues singer Smith died in 1937 after being refused admission to a whites only hospital.

1969 - The Beatles

The photo session for the cover of The Beatles Abbey Road album took place on the crossing outside Abbey Road studios. Photographer Iain McMillan, balanced on a step-ladder in the middle of the road took six shots of John, Ringo, Paul, and George walking across the zebra crossing while a policeman held up the traffic. The band then returned to the studio and recorded overdubs on ‘The End’, ‘I Want You (She's So Heavy)’ and ‘Oh! Darling’.

1966 - John Lennon

In response to John Lennon's remark about The Beatles being bigger than Jesus, The South African Broadcasting Corporation banned all Beatles records. Also on this day The Beatles LP Revolver was released in the US, the bands seventh album featured: ‘Taxman’, ‘Eleanor Rigby’, ‘I'm Only Sleeping’, ‘Here, There and Everywhere’, ‘She Said She Said’, ‘And Your Bird Can Sing’ and ‘Tomorrow Never Knows’. It spent 77 weeks on the Billboard chart peaking at No.1.

1964 - Ringo Starr

The single by The Young World Singers called 'Ringo For President' was released in the US. Such was The Beatles drummer appeal that fans launched a “Ringo for President” campaign in the midst of the Johnson/Goldwater race. A well-organized contingent – most of whose members were below the voting age of 21 – banded together to enter the drummer as a third-party write-in candidate for Commander in Chief.

1963 - The Beatles

The Beatles arrived in Guernsey in The Channel Islands, where they played two shows at Candie Gardens. They arrived in a 12-seater plane after making the 30 mile trip from Jersey, (their equipment was sent over by ferry). The Beatles would receive the sum of £1000 (approx.$1,600) for the two shows.

1960 - Brian Hyland

16-year old Brian Hyland went to No.1 on the US singles chart with 'Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny Yellow Polka Dot Bikini' it made No.8 in the UK. Also a UK No.1 for Bombalurina featuring TV presenter Timmy Mallett in 1990.

1960 - Ray Peterson

Decca Records scrapped 25,000 copies of Ray Peterson's 'Tell Laura I Lover Her' because they felt the song, which recounts the last thoughts of a teenager dying from a car accident, was "too tasteless and vulgar". A cover version by Ricky Valance, went to No.1 on the UK chart a month later.

[eddievedders]

Shall I be giving you the lineup card now, Ted? I shall be putting Obisanya back on defense where he belongs. That's exactly what I said, didn't I?

#tedlassoedit #Ted Lasso #Hannah Waddingham #Jason Sudeikis #Anthony Stewart Head #Rebecca's face after the 'randy' bit and Ted's IMMEDIATE response is chef's kiss #this whole darts scene is the best scene of anything ever and I watch it at least once a day #because it's beautifully written and i LOVE IT when assholes get put in their place #but tHIS BIT #Rupert was being a fuckwad to Ted and whatever man say what you gotta say #but the minute he's disrespectful towards Rebecca oh boy oh boy #and you can see the anger in Ted's face #but he's such a class act he's not gonna give Rupert the satisfaction #sure he's all NEARLY THREW HANDS WITH A 70 YEAR OLD but on the inside #which is more than I can say for me because I would've DECKED Rupert right then and there #and the way he says 'please'? SUDS U FUCKERR #it's so... final #like 'you're gonna stop talking now. i'm done with you' #i have so many feelings about this show someone help me #there are too many tags in this tumblr's gonna eat it i know it will #my stuff #mine: believe

[intheticklecloset]

Haikyuu!! Sentence Starters #61-70

A collection of the Haikyuu sentence starters I’ve done, compiled for the sake of ease. These are all stand-alone stories.

~~~

61) Lee Oikawa, Ler Iwa

“Do not change the channel.”

“But this is so boring!”

“Leave the remote, Toru.”

Oikawa promptly ignored Iwaizumi and leaned forward from his place on the couch, trying to grab the remote that would change the channel from this Old American West TV show to literally anything else.

“Toru!” Iwa snapped, reaching over to squeeze his side, effectively stopping him with a squeal and some giggles. “Leave it!”

“But nothing’s happening! I want to watch sci-fi or something.” Oikawa reached for the remote again, and again received a sharp squeeze to his side for his trouble. He collapsed back onto the couch cushion with high-pitched giggles. “Hajime!”

Iwa smirked. “Reach for it again. I dare you.”

Oikawa pouted. “You’re so mean.”

“Go on. Do it again.”

The setter hesitated, watching his friend closely. He couldn’t decide if he was bluffing or not, but either way, he made a desperate grab for the remote, faster this time. He was able to pick it up, but only at the expense of being tackled onto the couch with fingers digging into his ribs and sides. “Nohohohohohoho! Stahahahahahahap!”

“Change the channel, captain,” Iwa teased mercilessly, reaching one hand down to squeeze his hip, and Oikawa bucked and nearly fell onto the floor. “Change it. Watch your sci-fi. Go on, Toru!”

“HAHAHAHAHAJIME!!” Oikawa screamed, dropping the remote onto the ground in favor of grabbing his friend’s wrist, trying to pry him away from his sensitive hip. “STAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

Iwa instead chose to knead his thumb into the hip bone. Oikawa threw his head back and absolutely cackled, writhing helplessly.

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE, IWA-CHAHAHAHAHAHAN!!”

“Too late, Toru. You distracted me from my show.” The ace smirked, keeping up his tickling assault. “Lucky for you, this is far more entertaining!”

*

62) Lee Oikawa, Lers Aoba Johsai Teammates

Oikawa was completely losing his mind with laughter. He struggled as best he could from his position stuck under the bleachers in their gym – why had he thought to crawl under after the volleyball in the first place?! – shrieking and cackling as fingers dragged along his ribs, scribbled over his spine, squeezed his thighs, spidered along his knees, and raked up and down his soles. He didn’t even know how many of his teammates were on him right now; he couldn’t see anything from here. All he could do was feel it, and it was driving him absolutely crazy.

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!” he begged, unable to do little more than squirm side to side for the several pairs of hands holding him firmly in place, tickling and tickling and tickling him. “PLEASE, STOHOHOHOHOHOP!! I CAHAHAHAHAHAN’T TAHAHAHAKE BEING TIHIHIHIHICKLED!!”

“Seems like you’re taking it just fine to me~” one of his underclassmen teased.

A particular swipe of fingers down his arches made Oikawa squeal, slapping his palms against the floor under the bleachers. “PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

Someone squeezed his ribs, someone else slowed to a light tracing along his inner thighs. This latter nearly made him scream with laughter; the light touches always tickled so much worse than the harsh ones. For him, at least.

“I got a feather!” someone called.

“FEATHER?!” Oikawa cried, making his teammates laugh. “NONONO NO FEHEHEHEHEATHERS!! NAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” The light plume began dragging its way up his leg, from the heel of his foot to the inner thigh and even further up, dragging along his spine on its way to his neck. Oikawa burst into helpless giggles, wishing desperately that he had some room to squirm, but finding very little, if any at all.

Then someone started pinching his hips, and the team captain lost all pride as he began to laugh so hard his hysterics went silent. He slapped his palms on the ground, trying to find some way to break out of this tickle torture dungeon he’d gotten himself into.

“Ooh, good spot, captain?” someone teased him, kneading harder into his worst spot.

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!” Oikawa begged, crying with laughter at this point. “MEHEHEHEHEHERCY!! I BEHEHEHEHEG YOU!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

Finally his teammates had their fill, and they helped him wiggle his way out from under the bleachers, red-faced and teary-eyed and panting like he’d just run a marathon. But he had a big, dopey grin on his face, and he’d never felt higher on dopamine in his life.

*

63) Lee Hinata, Lers Karasuno Teammates

“Come on, Hinata,” Noya teased, sitting on his waist and digging into his ribs, making the poor tangerine scream with laughter. “You know you wanna say it~”

Daichi and Suga held his arms above his head, scribbling into his underarms. The captain remarked, “I’m honestly impressed he’s lasted this long.”

“Yeah,” Suga agreed. “You’re getting him pretty good, Noya.”

Hinata squealed as if to make their points, tossing his head back with absolute hysterics. He couldn’t even kick to relieve some of his ticklish frustration because Kageyama was sitting on his knees, scribbling over his thighs with a wicked, wicked grin. He was having way too much fun with this gang tickling thing.

“Yeah, come on, short stack,” the setter teased relentlessly. “You know you want to give up. Just say it.”

Hinata was absolutely losing his mind laughing; all of his worst spots were being targeted at once and he could barely focus on what they were saying, let alone think clearly to form any kind of smart response. He knew he was far too ticklish to take this for much longer, but he was bound and determined not to give them the satisfaction of begging them to stop. Wasn’t that how he got here in the first place?

After a practice match earlier that day Kenma had accidentally brushed against his side, causing the redhead to yelp and say, “stop!” before anything even really happened. Kageyama had overheard and teased him that he couldn’t handle more than a little poke to his ribs, and of course, Hinata had to open his big mouth and claim he could last being tickled a long time before begging for mercy.

So here he was now.

“How long has it been, do you think?” Daichi asked Suga.

Suga glanced at his phone, which he’d opened up to a timer when they started all of this. “Almost three minutes.”

Noya laughed. “He looks like he’s dying to ask us to stop.”

“Why don’t you, then, shorty?” Kageyama taunted, grinning evilly. “All you have to do is say one little word.”

But Hinata was nothing if not determined, so despite his loud, screaming hysterics and his pure desperation to push Noya off of his freaking ticklish ribs, he shook his head and forced himself not to say anything.

His teammates grinned at each other, shrugged, and unanimously decided to indulge in this little game for as long as it took.

*

64) Lee Kuroo, Lers Iwa and Oikawa

“Kenma would be happy to see you in this state,” Iwaizumi observed casually, as though he and Oikawa weren’t currently tickling Nekoma’s captain into a desperate, cackling mess.

Kuroo struggled against them. Each of them had one of his arms and were holding him firmly in place while they tickled his ribs and sides, making him squirm and laugh while he struggled to stay on his feet. “Shut uhuhuhuhup! Dohohohohon’t bring him ihihihinto this!”

“He was already a part of this conversation.” Oikawa hummed, smirking. “Or have we tickled you so much you’ve forgotten why you got yourself into this predicament?”

“I’m not reheheheheady!” Kuroo protested, squealing and arching his back when Iwa strayed a little too close to his underarm. “Stohohohohohop it!”

Iwa said reasonably, “If you don’t just rip off the Band-Aid now, you’re never going to. Ready or not, you’ve got to tell him.”

“Nohohohohohoho!”

Oikawa sighed. “Ah, Kuroo. Must we really tickle it out of you?”

“Bahahahahahahack off!” Kuroo yelped, his laughter turning more frantic when both his underarms were tickled at once. “Lehehehehet me go! It’s nohohohohone of your business anywahahay!”

Oikawa met Iwa’s gaze, and they shared a knowing smirk before reaching around to rake their fingers down Kuroo’s back in tandem, causing the taller boy to let out a rather high-pitched shriek before laughing so hard he finally couldn’t keep his footing anymore.

“NOHOHOHOHOHO, STAHAHAHAHAP!! THIS ISN’T FAHAHAHAHAHAHAIR!!”

“Tell him,” the Aoba Johsai players said in unison.

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

“Fine, then.” Oikawa chuckled as they worked together to push him to the ground, pinning him in place to tickle him into submission. “We have ways of changing your mind~”

*

65) Lee Noya, Ler Kageyama

“Eeeehahahahahahahaha! K-Kahahageyamahahahaha!” Noya squealed, kicking and squirming to no avail. He was pinned to the floor by the first-year setter, arms crossed at the wrists above his head, Kageyama kneeling over him with his knees pressed into his hips to keep him in place as he tickled. “Stahahahahahahahap!”

Kageyama’s eyes flashed mischievously, but he couldn’t hide the wide, excited smile on his lips as he used his free hand to travel from the libero’s underarm to his ribs, digging in gently but still with enough pressure to keep him laughing rather than just giggling.

“Plehehehehehehease, stahahahahahahap!” Noya shrieked. He bucked his hips (the little that he could) when Kageyama reached his ribs, making him twist to the side uselessly, hysterics turning screechy. “Kageyama, plehehehehehehease!”

In response, the setter let his hand travel further down to his belly and sides, quickly leaving them behind in favor of the libero’s hips when his cackling died down for a brief moment. He smiled even wider at the yelp he pulled from his upperclassman, followed by a long string of pleading protests.

“W-Why ahahahaharen’t you sahahahaying anything?!” Noya squeaked at last, bringing a leg up to try and kick Kageyama in the backside when he got a little too close to his worst spot.

“Sorry,” Kageyama replied in a quiet, almost awestruck voice. “I think I’m just kind of…mesmerized.”

“Whahahahahat?”

“Your laugh. I’ve never really heard it like this before.” Kageyama pressed a thumb into Noya’s inner thigh, pleased with the loud scream it caused. “It’s hard to want to stop.”

“AGHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOT THEHEHEHEHERE, YOU JEHEHEHEHEHEHERK!!” Noya tried bucking his hips again to escape the strong, ticklish sensations now shooting through his body, but that’s when Kageyama decided to straddle him, bringing his thrashing to an abrupt end, making his laughter go up an octave and become even wilder. “NONONO STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!! KAGEYAHAHAMA PLEHEHEHEHEASE!!”

Kageyama was full-on beaming now, struggling but determined to keep Noya pinned and helpless as he tickled, focusing on the spot that got the most genuine laughter from him. “I like hearing you laugh like this,” he said, so quietly Noya almost didn’t hear him. “But I…I can stop if you really want me to.”

Noya spasmed when a particularly sensitive nerve bundle was hit, and his laughter went silent for a few moments before Kageyama eased the pressure enough to allow him to respond. He gasped for breath, looking up at his tormentor through giggly, squinty vision, surprised to see the look of honest eagerness on his face. The libero shivered, twisted to hide his face in his shirt sleeve. “Ugh. You’re lucky I like you.”

Kageyama blinked. “Noya?”

Noya bit his lip, considering, then finally let out a long whimper and squeezed his eyes shut. “Fine, just – just stop when I tell you to again, okay?”

The setter’s eyes lit up, and his smile was back, and Noya would have melted at the sight if he weren’t busy throwing his head back with a fresh round of hysterical laughter.

*

66) Lee Kenma, Ler Kuroo

“You are the best friend I’ve ever had,” Kuroo said seriously, “and I don’t want to lose that.”

Kenma gave him a sideways glance, surprised and mildly concerned. “There’s no need to get all emotional about it. You’re my best friend, too.”

“I appreciate you. I dragged you into learning to play volleyball and you went with it so well.”

“Seriously, are you dying?” The setter paused his game to give Kuroo his full attention. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Suddenly Kuroo was smirking. “I just didn’t want to ruin the progress you made when I started to tickle you.”

“Wha – AGH!!” Kenma squealed when his bigger, taller friend pushed him over onto his bed, fingers deep in his ribs, making him choke on a laugh and try to push him away. “Nohohohohohoho! Kuroo, you jeheheheheheherk!”

“I just want to show you how much I appreciate you,” Kuroo teased, settling himself easily on Kenma’s hips and reaching under his shirt to scratch deliberately at the bare skin of his sides and belly.

“Aiiehehehehehehehehe! I f-feheheheheheel appreheheciated, Kuroo! Plehehehehehehease!” The setter squirmed and giggled on the bed, grasping Kuroo’s wrists but not really trying to push him away. A light pink hue colored his cheeks. “Nohohohohohohoho!”

“Aww, what’s the matter, Kenma? My best friend in the whole world?”

“Kuhuhuhuhuhuhuroo!”

“Is someone a little ticklish, hmm?”

“Plehehehehehehease – NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHEHEHEHEHERE!!” Kenma tossed his head back with a screech of panicked laughter when his friend got to his hot spot – his underarms. He bucked and tossed himself around as best he could, but the next thing he knew Kuroo had both of his wrists snatched up and pinned above his head, forcing him to lay there and take the tickling that was slowly but surely driving him insane. “EHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! KUROO!!”

“Whaaaaat?” Kuroo chuckled, grinning wickedly at his friend, whom he knew was having more fun than he was letting on. “I just want to see you smile!”

*

67) Lee Suga, Ler Daichi

“I’m sorry, I’m confused,” Daichi teased, a grin creeping across his face as he pinched his friend’s sides. “You said you weren’t ticklish, but I’m tickling you and you’re laughing.”

Suga gripped his shoulders, desperate not to give in so quickly, no matter how many traitorous giggles spilled past his lips without permission. He’d been backed into a wall – quite literally – and now had to figure some way out of this mess before his friend found his worst spot.

“N-Nohohohot t-t-tihihihicklish,” he attempted to reaffirm, shaking his head through his snickers. “Just…l-lahahahaughing at your attehehehehempts to try.”

“Mhm.” Daichi slid up to his ribs, kneading purposefully, pinning Suga against the wall harder when he started squirming more violently. “What’s this? More not-ticklish reactions?”

“I’m nohohohohohot!” Suga insisted, hands flying down to grab at Daichi’s arms. “Y-You’re huhuhuhuhurting me, thahahat’s all!”

“Oh, am I?” Daichi feigned concern, switching from kneading to gentle rubbing, like he was trying to massage the pain away. “I’m terribly sorry; let me fix that for you~”

Suga couldn’t help the slew of high-pitched giggles that burst out of him. He arched his back, pushing at Daichi frantically. “Nonono that’s worse, that’s wohohohohohohorse!”

The team captain smirked. He was amused by his friend’s resistance, despite it being painfully obvious that he was, in fact, ticklish. He decided to try one more spot, shoving his hands under Suga’s arms. “What about here? Does it ‘hurt’ here?”

“Nohohohohohoho! Dahahahahaichi!”

“No? It doesn’t hurt? That’s great!” Daichi smiled wickedly, leaning in close to the setter’s face. “Does that mean it…tickles?”

Suga’s cheeks flushed red, and seconds later his resolve crumbled under all of the teasing and gentle but persistent tickling. “Fihihihihihine, okahahahahay! I’m tihihihihihicklish! Dahahaichi, please, stohohohohohop!”

Daichi chuckled, only digging in harder, making Suga laugh louder. “Nah. I think you deserve a little more, Suga.”

*

68) Lee Noya, Ler Tanaka

“Ah-HA!! N-No – Tanahahahahaka, nohohohoho!” Noya squealed as the taller second-year pushed him down onto the couch, fingers deep in his ribs. The libero kicked and squirmed, but Tanaka only laughed and dodged out of the way.

“I knew it! I knew you had to be ticklish!”

Moments before they’d been playing video games, during which Noya’s character had – for the tenth time in a row – beaten Tanaka’s. Frustrated but still feeling playful, Tanaka did the first thing that came to mind, which was tickle his smaller friend into submission since he couldn’t beat him in virtual combat. He’d been hoping the libero was actually ticklish (it would have been even more humiliating if he wasn’t), but now he was pleasantly surprised to find that his cool little friend was not only ticklish, but extremely so.

Noya tossed his head back and shrieked. “TANAKAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

“Oh? Did I find a good spot? Huh, Noya? Did I?” Tanaka giggled along with his friend, kneading his thumbs into his bottom ribs while using the rest of his fingers to curl into the backs of them. It seemed to be a deadly combination for the libero, whose laughter had turned screechy and wild as he bucked and kicked.

“STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP IT!! S-SOHOHOHOHOHORE LOHOHOHOHOSER!! LET ME GO – TANAKA YOU JEHEHEHEHEHEHERK!!”

“Keep calling me names, Noya!” Tanaka smirked. “See how well that goes for you.”

“YOU’RE JUHUHUHUHUST MAD I KEHEHEHEHEHEEP BEATING YOHOHOHOU!!”

“Yes, good. Taunt me more, why don’t you?”

Noya’s face was turning red and he was desperately gasping for air at this point. Finally he tapped weakly on Tanaka’s arms. “OKAY, I GIHIHIHIHIHIVE!! LET ME GOHOHOHO!! PLEHEHEHEASE!!”

Grinning, Tanaka stopped his attack, sitting back with a satisfied smirk. “Heh. Knew you had to be at least a little ticklish, Noya! Good to know for the next time you start kicking my virtual butt – h-hey, what are you—? Nohohohohohoya!”

Noya latched onto Tanaka’s sides and dug in deep. He chuckled wickedly even as he panted, still recovering from his own assault. “I’ll show you what happens when you mess with me, Ryu!”

*

69) Lee Kenma, Lers Nekoma Teammates

“Come on, Kenma,” Kuroo groaned, looking over the top of the camera. “Just a little smile.”

“I can’t smile on command.”

The team captain sighed. He was trying to set up the camera to take a picture after ten seconds so he could run and join the others for their team photo of the year, but he wasn’t going to do it until Kenma agreed to at least try and smile.

“Don’t worry, captain,” Lev replied, reaching around from where he stood in the back to wiggle a finger in Kenma’s side. “We can get him to smile one way or another.”

Kenma tried to scramble away, but in seconds a few others closest to him had joined in, grabbing his limbs and tickling his sides, ribs, and thighs, making him burst into giggles whether he wanted to or not.

Kuroo smiled. “Good idea! Just let us know when you’re ready to smile on your own, Kenma.”

“Stohohohohop it!” Kenma squealed, eyes squeezed shut and lips turned up in a huge grin he couldn’t control. “No fahahahahair! Don’t tihihihihickle me!”

His teammates teased him playfully, one after the other.

“Come on, smile for us!”

“Smile for the cameraaaa~”

“You know you want to!”

“Tickle, tickle, tickle!”

Finally, with a squeal, the setter cried, “Okahahahahay, fine! Fine, I’ll smihihihihile!”

Kuroo quickly fussed with the camera settings, then pressed a button and hurried to stand at the end of the group to pose for their official team photo. He didn’t look at Kenma before the flash went off, but once it did, he practically lunged for his smaller friend and yelled, “Get him!”

Once again Kemna was sent into fits of cackling laughter as his entire team ganged up on him at once, making him shriek and giggle as the camera continued to click quietly in the background, taking extra photos of his beaming smile that Kuroo would treasure for many years to come.

*

70) Lee Suga, Ler Daichi

“It’s just one little feather! It can’t tickle that bad,” Daichi teased, grinning down at Suga as he lay helplessly pinned to the floor, a feather from one of their gym’s dusters twirling in his belly button.

Suga’s face was already red, hysterical giggles spilling from his mouth as he squirmed and pleaded. “Thahahahahahat’s not for yohohohohou to sahahahahahay! It tihihihihihihickles a lot! D-Dahahahaichi, plehehehehease!”

“Really? Just this one tiny, super soft feather tickles you that bad?” The team captain smirked. “What would happen if I used the whole duster, then?”

Suga’s eyes went wide. “Dohohohohohon’t!”

“Why not?~”

The silver-haired setter whimpered, arching his back when Daichi flipped the feather over so the slightly harder bit was digging into his most ticklish spot instead. It seemed to send shockwaves through him, as he jerked and shook his head and squealed, growing steadily desperate.

“Dahahahahahai! Plehehehehehehease!” Suga cried. He gasped in a grateful breath of air when the feather finally disappeared, only for it to be replaced with his captain’s finger instead. He let out a shriek and exploded with laughter. “NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! DAHAHAHAHAHAICHI, NO MOHOHOHOHOHOHORE!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE, I CAHAHAHAHAN’T!!”

“I love how this tiny little spot gets you hyena laughing in an instant,” Daichi chuckled. Sure enough, seconds later Suga’s infamous hyena cackles began to fill the air, amusing the tickler and embarrassing the ticklee. “There it is! It’s so much fun to make you laugh like this, Kou.”

“STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Suga begged, going insane from the persistent tickling of his death spot. “PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE, I’LL DO ANYTHIHIHIHIHIHING!!”

Sensing he was nearing a limit, Daichi finally let up, skittering his fingers teasingly over the soft flesh of his setter’s belly and sides before finally letting him up again with a grin. “Have fun, bud?”

Suga punched him in the shoulder, and they both laughed.

#fanfiction #tickle fic #tickle drabbles #compilation #quick prompts #sentence starters #coffee shots #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #hq

[suicidalslasher]

forever & always. ➤ tom. h.

Happy Valentine’s Day~!!! I couldn’t contain myself and or stop myself from writing about my favorite Valentine’s day killer. So, here you go :)

WARNING: descriptions of gore and blood. in this one-shot, the reader’s pronouns are she&her.  i might make a part two of this, depending on how well it does. maybe not. i like how it ends, regardless. either way. enjoy.

The news spread like wildfire. No matter which way you went, there was always a flame, reaching out towards those to burn. Try as you may, you can't get away. The words that littered the air was nothing more than burnt ashes fluttering around, burning each object as it flies above said thing or said person. In this case, the people of a small town called Valentine Bluffs were the ones burning from the inside and out. They felt trapped within the smoke, unable to seek out which way to escape the dangers that had followed.   The terror; the trauma; the panic and anxiety attacks; All of it - they thought it was long gone.... they were finally going back to being normal, how things used to be. 

They were going back to a life that wasn't full of fear, having to look behind your shoulder constantly and being careful of who you trust. It was all going to be okay, happy once more. They'd finally be able to celebrate their favorite day once again.  But... as you may have guessed, it's not quite  easy to put out a rapid wildfire. All it takes is a small fire to expand out into something bigger, bolder, and scarier. You can't escape the flames. No matter how big or small. You cannot ignore the overwhelming burning sensation that  glazes across your skin as the fire around you grows larger, making you feel smaller and smaller by the second.  The words, however, the statement that was fluttering around like specks of ash,  wasn't at all a sentence (nor an actual fire)  but a name - Harry Warden.  1997. Valentine's day. Everybody, in & out of town, knows what happened.  For a brief period of time there, nobody celebrated Valentine's day, having thought it out to be cursed.  Yet, as time went on, there was no sign of Harry Warden. No copy cat killer version of him, neither. So, the people went back to celebrating. Writing hand written love letters,  buying cheaply made cards at the local supermarket, buying and or receiving overly priced chocolates. Anything, everything, people did it with  love in their hearts and a smile on their face.  Today was Valentine's Day, once more. Expect it wasn't the way it had been for the past 9 years. It was exactly like the day in 1997. History was repeating itself.  Instead of love, presents, and reserved dinner dates being celebrated and shared, the town of Valentine Bluffs  got decomposed, rotting corpses,  instead. Blood scattered outside and inside of buildings. 

  It was worse than before, more bodies were showing up without their hearts and the missing body piece would be found neatly placed in between a plastic heart shaped box. All of which would be sent to the police station as a joke, as  a threat.  Even a card would be taped on top or under the container, though the sentences were far from cheerful and loveable.  A few of them had been thrown aside, only having been read once. Those who opened it and read it aloud usually found themselves cringing in dismay  as they read the paragraph out loud all while  shifting around in their seat, uncomfortably.  

Once they read it, they shook their heads as tears welled up in their eyes before they threw it into the trash bin or ripped it into hundreds of tiny pieces, not daring to open another letter that's brought in. Evidence or not, the workers couldn't keep their breakfast or lunch down when they'd read the cards.  The recent two cards had said;  From the heart comes a warning, filled with bloody good cheer, remember what happened as the 14th draws near!  And the last victim, a girl named Maryanne Anderson, had gotten a card right before she was found dead, her body laying in a ditch to rot.  Her card had read; Roses are red, violets are blue, one is dead, and so are you.  Nobody knew who the new killer was, or if it even was a new killer, copying Harry's schemes and following in his footsteps.  It could have very well been  the same man all those years ago. That's what they were saying.   (Y/N) (L/N) was in her car, driving back home from work when her favorite song had been replaced with an alarm, cutting off her favorite part. "Oh, c'mon!" She groaned, hands hitting the steering wheel in annoyance  before she goes to turn up the volume anyways, wondering what's so important that the town and the police station had to turn off her favorite song. 

She knew about the murders, she knew there was a serial killer around, she already knew this already. And yes, she was petrified, as most people were. When the first body showed up, the mayor of town announced there'd be a curfew until they found out who is doing all of this. Whether it was one person or more, they'd find a way to capture the killer. No matter what. There was not going to be another murder.

 (Of course, there was more.) 

 (The original curfew was getting home at 9:30. Now, it had gone down and you'd have to be indoors, at your house, by 6:30 PM.)  Students in school would get out earlier, as well as the adults in town. The only ones who didn't get to go home so early in the day were those who were trying to protect the people of Valentine Bluffs.  "We are sorry to interrupt that song there," came the  radio host's deep and groggy voice. "However, this is more important than your favorite throwback jams. I've gotten an officer here with me, he had just shown up not even a second ago to tell us more news on the situation we are currently in. So, please, listen carefully."  "Yeah, whatever. I already know what's going on. Tell me something I don't know." (Y/N)  turns off the radio as she pulls up in her driveway, feeling a sense of comfort clouding over her, another day, she's okay; safe and sound, unlike a few of her old high school friends that were gutted like fish and butchered like pigs. 

She shivers at both the bitter and harsh wind brushing against her  as she steps out of her vehicle and the obvious visual of whatever masked man (or men) that's around, killing innocent people for whatever given reason.  Hurrying along the steps to her porch, she digs her keys out of her jacket pocket, finding them within seconds before she's pushing them into the door as quickly as she could. She didn't show it, tried not to show it, but she was as anxious and paranoid as everyone else was. 

(Y/N) was  trying to hold back her fear but the moment she gets home, locking all the doors and windows, the uneasy feelings creep up on her and every negative emotion takes charge.     With a sigh, she falls down onto the couch with a plop, reaching for the remote, she turns on the TV, attempting to try and get her mind off of things.  Of course, every station wasn't what she wanted to watch, the news replacing every channel.  She skipped and skipped but it all remained the exact same. With a groan, she decides to listen to what they were saying, even though she really didn't want to hear it as it'd only make her anxiety worse.  "I am Jonathan Godfrey. We're sorry to interrupt your daily scheduled programs, however, a man you may know as Tom Hanniger has escaped from his stay from a mental hospital."  (Y/N)'s eyes nearly budge out of her head at the mention of the man's name,  the remote she had in the palm of her hand goes flying, falling down onto the ground by her feet. Tom? Mental hospital? It didn't make any sense! Everyone... including her, thought he was dead! She, with shaky fingers, grabs the remote to turn the volume up.   Jonathan's own eyes were wide as he read the teleprompter, his voice now grew shaky as he spoke. Fear was written across both his and his co-worker’s face. "Unfortunately, we don't have any more information or news as to where he's escaped off to. Or where he may be as of the moment. All the reports, every last piece of information we have been received  has said he's been missing since two days ago.  He can be anywhere.  More importantly, he can be here, hiding out." His voice trembled as he spoke, it was also very faint - almost ghostly. Quiet as a mouse. His skin was pale, making it appear as if he was a ghost rather than a living person that sat in the chair there.  

 Jonathan couldn't continue, this much was obvious, therefore his co-host, Abigail Miller, continued where he had left off.    "This being said, please, lock the doors and windows of your home. If you have a weapon to guard your own life and protect your ground, get it out now. Please, protect yourself the very best you can. And do not, I repeat, do not answer the door. Do not leave your home whatsoever. Whatever is outside of your house is surely not more important than your life.  

“Whether it is Tom that has been doing this or not, we're not exactly sure. All we tell you is to be careful and remain indoors until we can find Tom and or find the Valentine's killer. This has been Jonathan Godfrey and Abigail Miller, with the news. Stay safe and God bless." The program that was previously playing showed up finally, the neon colors swirling together to form the title of the show, along with a fairly way too cheerful theme song playing faintly in the distance as the introduction played out. (Y/N) had never heard of it before, but from a quick glance, it appeared to be a sitcom from the late 70's.  The only source of light was coming from the television screen, casting colorful shadows across (Y/N)'s face. She had felt too tired to have turned on the lights upon entering her house. Work was short, the hours having grown thinner because of the curfew, however, it was still tiring all the same.  She instantly regretted not doing so now, however. 

She sat in the dark, her heart thumping loudly against her chest as she pulled a near by blanket around her shoulders as if the thick fabric would comfort her and protect her. The room had gotten colder ever since the report was announced. Goosebumps ran up and down (Y/N)'s body, the baby hairs on her neck stood on end as a shiver slid up and down her spine. Despite the blanket being around her body, she felt nothing but cold, numb. Suddenly, the TV went out with a soft 'ping'.    (Y/N) gasped and her heart stopped beating all together.  She felt like she couldn't breathe, she couldn't tell if she was going crazy either when she heard what sounded like  footsteps coming down from the hallway. She sat, frozen, on her couch, unable to move, unable to breathe.  Then.... a knock. Followed by another and another. It was right outside, coming from not the front entrance but the back yard. "(Y/N)? (Y/N), please..." came the voice.  ​​​​​​​And (Y/N) recognized that voice anywhere.  She knows she shouldn't.... everybody said not to but... she couldn't help herself.  Getting up as quickly as she could, she runs down the hallway, the sounds of her feet echoing against the thin walls as she reaches the door, tugging it open.   There, on the other half of the door, stood nobody other than Tom Hanniger himself.   He looked up, surprised she had answered the door.  Giving her a weak, lopsided smile,  Tom's pulling her into a tight hug, his head falling down in the crook between her shoulder and neck, tears flooding his eyes as he soaks her shirt, silently weeping. "(Y/N).... fuck, I've missed you so much, missed you so bad." Tom confesses with a sniffle.  "Tom... I- what're you doing here? They're looking for you, you know this, right? Everybody's looking for you. And.... and I- fuck, Tom! I thought you were dead. Everybody in town thought you died the day your father did." (Y/N) didn't hesitate to hide her true feelings. She was a mixture of emotions. Angry, happy, sad, scared - she was feeling every single emotion there possibly was. "I know... I know. I-I have a lot to explain and a lot to tell you but please, right now, can we just- can we just play pretend?" He asked, moving away from her shoulder as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater, his eyes remained watery and his skin was flushed as he looked up at (Y/N).  (Y/N) guessed it was a mixture of three things - running away from the mental hospital to where her house was to  the bitter and harsh February air. Plus, the crying he had just done, too. His face was red and blotchy from all three. Despite it being so cold, sweat trickled his face, a few drips of it falling along side his cheeks. "Play pretend?" (Y/N) echoed, tilting her head to the side, unsure of what he meant.  "Let's play pretend." He repeated, licking his lips. "Let's play pretend and imagine none of this horrid, crazed shit is going on right now. Let's pretend it's only me and you. It's Valentine's day, isn't it? Let's celebrate. After all, it was one of our favorite days to spend together."  Heat rose to (Y/N)'s cheeks and she bit on her bottom lip, rocking back and forth on the bottom of her feet.  "Tom.... I-I'm...You want-" She couldn't from sentences, her thoughts were mushing together and it was all too much for her to handle. She felt like she was going to pass out. "I want you, (Y/N). I want you as bad as I did then and I want you just as badly right  now. There has never been a day where I wasn't thinking about you. You were the love of my life. I still love you, maybe even more, now. Let's celebrate, please. We can talk about everything tomorrow morning. I promise I'll tell you everything.  Right now, let's play pretend, let's act like it's just us again, like when we were teens.... I've missed you. And.... and I know you've missed me too or else you wouldn't have opened the door." And, yeah, okay, he was right.  "Tom..."  "(Y/N)." He stepped closer to her, closer than he had done before, as he rests his hand against her cheek, fingers brushing against her skin as he looked into her (E/C) eyes.  "I love you. I never stopped. And I know you love me, too.... so, please, baby girl.... can I just show you how much I love you?" (Y/N) shouldn't have answered the door. She should have called the cops when she heard his voice. Everything was too much of a  coincidence. 

Her power was working perfectly fine until Tom had shown up. 

Now that she was thinking about it.... 

There was also no victims until she had heard the news Tom had left the asylum. Three days ago.... 

Three days ago, there was the first victim; Maryanne.  If she thought too much about it, got too deep into the rabbit hole, she would have assumed Tom Hanniger was the Valentine's killer - The Miner.  Yet... looking at Tom, she knew he wasn't - couldn't - be the killer. If he was, he would've killed her too, right? Tom Hanniger's been through too much, and just like she was there before, she was going to be there for him now. Through Hell and back.  

She would stay by his side, no matter what. She still kept the old promise ring he had given her in high school, along with the note in which he confessed his feelings. In which, he told her - one day - he'd marry her. She was the perfect girl for him, as he was the perfect man for her.  A promise is a promise. When she said 'forever and always', she meant that. (Y/N) knew Tom meant it, too.  "I love you too."   Tom's quick to place his lips on (Y/N)'s and (Y/N) is quick to kiss him back just as hungry, just as fierce. She tangles  her fingers through her hair and pulls on it, earning a groan from Tom. Satisfied with the result, she tugs him into her house by the sleeve of his shirt, slamming the door shut with her foot. 

"I've missed you, baby." He says, not daring to pull away from the kiss.

"Show me how much you've missed me then, baby." She mumbles against his lips. "Oh, I'm going to."  "Let's go celebrate Valentine's day the right way then. Come on, let's go upstairs."   Tom grins and  (Y/N) smiles back before she's pulling him up the stairs and into her bedroom. 

Forever and Always. It was them until the end. Nobody would ever separate the two of them, again.... not even Harry Warden was going to destroy Tom’s happiness... not this time.

#Tom Hanniger x reader #Tom Hanniger x Y/N #slasher imagines #slasher one shots #slasher x reader #Jensen Ackles x Y/N #My Bloody Valentine #Jensen Ackles x reader #Slasher fanfictions #Jensen Ackles fanfictions #Jensen Ackles imagines #Tom Hanniger imagines #Jensen Ackles one shots #my works #Tom Hanniger one shots #Tom Hanniger fanfictions #Harry Warden x reader #Harry Warden x Y/N #cierra's stories

[scuttle-buttle]

Sleeping With the Enemy

Chapter 2

Summary: Catherine Sinclair is the younger, estranged half-sister of renowned F1 driver James Hunt. Things get a bit complicated when she decides to reenter James’ life and ends up meeting his rival - Niki Lauda. Engines ignite as Catherine finds herself caught between her feelings for Niki and the rivalry that the two men share. Will she pump the brakes or let herself crash in the inferno?

Pairing: Niki Lauda (Rush 2013) x fem!OC Catherine Sinclair

WC: 979

Rating: E 18+ for eventual smut

T/W: language, eventual smut, hot second of accidental implied incest (but there is none), rivalry, mentions of substance use, F1 racing, flirting 

You never really had an interest in racing or F1 growing up. In fact, you maintained that you had no interests or talents as a child. That's why when you turned 18 you left home; to find myself, you'd told your mother. You had a bit of a rough patch, so to speak, from the time you left until you were about 20. After all, it was the early 70s. Sex, drugs, and rock’n’roll were all the rage. You even spent a summer as a groupie for the Rolling Stones on their European tour. 

After a few years of going non-stop you decided to settle down. Your father paid for university and you degreed in Medieval and Renaissance Art. You had yourself a nice little flat in Bologna and worked in one of the art museums. But through it all you never returned to your family. 

Your poor mother. She worked hard to provide for you. Your father wasn't in the picture -  at least not until he found out about you. At the age of 13 your mum reached out to him to confess that the affair between the two had produced a child. He tried to bring you into his own family. A doting wife and step siblings all on the path to great success. He provided anything you could ever need, but you never felt that you fit in. You weren't destined to be some hot shot doctor or barrister. 

The only one of your siblings you felt close with was James. He was 15 when you ‘joined’ the Hunts. In secret you would talk about your dreams and fears with each other. How the two of you were just different. James was the only one you truly believed was your family. That is, until you decided to leave. Naturally he didn't want you to go, as adventurous and daring as he was himself. You hadn't spoken much in the years since. 

When you heard he'd finally made it to the big leagues and gotten himself a drive with McLaren you felt so proud. Pushing down your own pride, you made it your mission to find and see him race when there was a local grand prix. Thus, here you were today.

“Catherine,” Niki tested your name in his mouth. You felt heat rise in your cheeks at the intensity of his expression. I suppose everything you do will be pretty intense with a job like this though?

Before you could respond there was a bellow from behind you. “Kitty? Is that you?” 

You cringed at the old nickname. James jogged up to you and put his hand on your shoulder, shaking you with joy at seeing you after so many years. “I came over to rib the Rat King and look what I find! I didn’t know you were coming!” While you were elated to finally be with your brother again you felt the sudden anxiety come creeping back in. Would he be mad that you had been gone for so many years, only to randomly show up at a race?

“Yeah it uh… it was pretty last minute...” You cleared your throat. “But when I heard about your drive I figured it was about time.” James’ hair was longer than you remembered, your father always insisting he kept it short when you were young. 

“You look good,” his tone softened, hand squeezing your arm. “I hope Niki isn’t giving you any shit. He’s always so serious all the time.”

Niki cocked his shoulders. “I’m a serious guy. I go to bed early, look after myself, look after my car.”

“Yes, you’re very well behaved.” James rolled his eyes.

“Go to work, kick ass, then after the race I go home instead of going to bars and doing all this bullshit with all these assholes,” he gestured around. 

“Assholes?” James’ eyes narrowed.

“Alright, boys, that’s enough,” you said while crossing your arms and raising your eyebrows at James.

The two drivers shared a look. Turning to you, James asked “I have to get back, but you’ll stop by, yeah? I want to see you again.”

“Yeah I'll swing by in a bit,” you nod.

Niki watched the interaction with annoyance. Here he was thinking that he had met the one woman that didn’t swoon for Hunt. He had also never seen his rival so… soft when talking to a woman. You must be someone special to him. Instantly he felt the jealousy rise in his chest. 

Hunt left the two of you and headed back to the celebration. Niki was giving James a death glare. Now that your brother was gone you hoped to pick the conversation back up.

“How do you know Hunt?” Niki questioned abruptly. 

“Oh we um…. we’ve known each other for years. Our families are pretty… close...” You didn’t like the line of questioning into your family problems. You changed the subject, hoping that he will drop his own. “So you were saying something about visiting the garage?” you chewed your lip.

Niki glanced at you with surprise evident on his face. He hadn’t expected you to want to visit with him after the interaction with Hunt. If you were involved with him he did not want to put himself in that situation either. “I’m sure you would rather spend your time with him,” he gestured between you and the direction James had travelled in.

You visibly shuttered and nearly shouted out “oh god - no, NO.”

Maybe she isn’t fucking Hunt then, Niki hoped. He was pleased and amused with your response. “I have precision testing with Ferrari on Thursday in Maranello. Be there at 10. Tell them you’re with me and they won’t give you shit.”

Studying his face for a brief second, you decided to live a little, “yeah alright.” 

You smile at him and turn to go find James. “I’ll see you Thursday, Catherine,” Niki called after you.

“Have a good night, Niki,” you threw over your shoulder.

Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio

#niki lauda fanfiction #niki lauda rush 2013 #niki x reader #niki x oc #niki lauda x reader #niki lauda daniel bruhl #rush 2013 #daniel bruhl niki lauda #daniel bruhl #daniel brühl #scuttle-buttle

[hrtthrbromanov]

Golden Boy

summary - Its been a long, long time. 

word count -  3033

Warnings - smut, fluff, maybe angst if you squint? 

Notes - Hi! I cannot write smut, so I’m deeply sorry about that. I just wanted to try my hand at it. However, if you do have any requests for future works please let me know ! I’d be more than happy to write it. 

________________________________________________________________

Two years. 

It's been two years since the incident in Lagos. Two years since the team split. Two years since you've seen him. 

You run your palms nervously up and down your thighs, the friction doing little to subside your nerves. Your mind was spinning, thinking of everything that could happen. Everything that could go wrong. You were pissed, sure, but just the thought of seeing him again made you cram whatever petty thing you wanted to say to him in the far corner of your mind.

‘What if he doesn't want to see me too? What if we can't put this past us? What if-’ 

“We're here.” 

Your debilitating thoughts stop at once. You stand, forcing yourself over to the window.  Everything was so beautiful. So advanced. You can't wrap your head around it all. You thought pointing out everything you saw was a good way to ground yourself and quell the anxiety, but once you felt the jet lowering to the ground, your nervous habits got to you again, and you have to will yourself to not wring your hands raw. 

“It's going to be okay, Lady Y/N.” A firm hand was placed on your shoulder as Thor offered you a few words of encouragement. You smile up at him, tight lipped and nostrils flared, still not convinced. 

“Yeah, what's the worst that could happen? They call you a traitor, turning their backs on you and never speak to you again?”

You turned to face the talking raccoon, scrunching up your face in confusion. “I really should've skinned you a long time ago.” You retorted, tugging at his ears as he pawed at you in protest. “Cut it out, you're gonna give me tetanus, you rat.” You giggle, briefly forgetting about your impending thoughts. 

“I am groot.” 

“Yeah, what he said. Suck it, Y/N.” Rocket hisses, pulling away from your assault. You went to reply, but before you could you felt the ground shudder below you. ‘We've landed.’ You realize. You quickly smooth down your suit, going over yourself one last time. ‘Whatever happens, happens.’ you reason with yourself. You felt a gush of wind rush past you as the doors of the ship opened, revealing tall, eccentric buildings, complemented with a deep blue sky. 

You hold your breath as you step out of the ship, unsure of what to expect. You let out your breath when the palace came into view. Your heart thudded in your chest when you made out a huddle of people right in front, no doubt waiting for you. Taking it a step at a time, you made your way over. As you neared the group you could make out Rhodey, Bruce, Natasha, Bucky, and Steve. 

“Two fossils in one place? I didn't know this was a paleontologist convention.” 

As if on cue, they all turned to face you and you could've sworn the world stopped for just a second. You didn't know what to do so you just stood there, offering a meek smile. 

“Who you calling fossil, dollface?” 

Bucky was the first to approach you, his arms open and a grin you missed so much on his face. You threw your arms around his neck as he encased you with his, squeezing nearly all you had left in you out. The hug ended all too soon as another pair of hands was pulling you two apart. 

“Share some with the rest of us, hog.” 

It was Nat. Your smile only grew upon seeing her. She pulled you into her, her hand going to cradle your head. “It's been too long,” she mumbled into your ear. You nodded against her, pulling back slightly to take in her face. 

“Hey, Y/N.” 

A small but unmistakable voice called from behind you. You pull away from Natasha's embrace to greet Bruce. He looked as nervous as you felt. “Now here's a face I haven't seen in a while. How you doing, big man?” You attempted to ease him as you took him in your arms. 

“I've had better days,” he said, the reply muffled by your shoulder. He patted your back as a friendly gesture after you escape from his hold. His expression became softer, as if he were more sure of himself now. 

“I hope you weren't thinking you could skip me.” 

You turned to Rhodey to see his smug grin. You grabbed his hand in yours as he clasped a hand on your back. “Now why would I have such a thought,” you chuckle as he stepped back.  

This left one person. The one person you haven't heard speak since you set foot in Wakanda. You knew he wanted to say something, to scoop you into his arms and say sorry, how he wished it'd never had happened, how he shouldn't have let you go. You could feel his eyes burning a hole into your head. Mustering all the courage you had, you turn to face him. But before you could say anything, a booming voice sounded from behind you. 

“Bruce and friends! Come look at my ship!”

You could hear Rocket bickering with Thor about how it was his ship, not Thor's, and how he was just some homeless pirate who needed to take a hike. You roll your eyes as everyone made their way over to take a closer look. Everyone but Steve. You two stood there, neither one of you making a move to speak. The silence wasn't normal for you two, uncomfortable even, so you said the first thing that came to your mind when looking at his face. 

“So, did you just not have razors, or were you going for a new look?” 

Steve breathed a sigh of relief, followed by a chuckle soon after. He stood up taller before he spoke, “You know, I thought I'd look cool, but now, I just feel.. old.” It was nice falling back into your silly exchanges, especially after such a time apart. The ache in your heart slowly dissipated as you looked into his eyes. You grin, tilting your head to the side, “Well, it's about time. You're only 70 years too late.” 

Steve threw his head back as laughter erupted from his throat. As his laughter came to a stop, he was the one to pull you into a hug. You melt into his arms, taking in his scent as you bury your nose into his chest. You missed this. You missed him. 

You held each other in silence for what seemed to be an eternity until he said it first.

“I missed you.”

“Getting all sentimental on me now, old man?” 

“Y/N..” he chuckled at your attempt to minimize your feelings, though, by his eyes, you could tell it was no joke to him. 

“I know, I know. I.. I missed you too, Steve. Man, I have thought about this moment for a long, long while. I-I don’t even remember everything that I wanted to say.” You were stumbling over your words, emotions getting too thick, it’s evident in your voice. 

“Hey,” Steve ran his hands up and down your arms to soothe you, “we don’t have to talk about this. Not right now, at least. Let’s just catch up. Enjoy being back.” He smiles, and this time you could see the genuine happiness and relief in his eyes. He was gorgeous without even trying, and you’d punch him later for it. 

“I’d like that. Thank you, Steve.” Your breathing finally evened and your words flowed once again. He never pushed you, and for that, you were grateful. 

“But I do have to ask..” 

“Steeeeve..” 

“I know, I’m sorry, but it’s just been eating at the back of my mind. According to Rhodey, you left a note on the fridge six months ago saying ‘brb’?” He used air quotes to punctuate your silly informalities. 

You laugh softly, looking down, “I called up some old friends, told them I needed a getaway, traveled the galaxies for a bit..” 

“And Thor?” 

“You know, we just got him a whole, I don’t know, two hours ago, but man has he eaten literally everything in the ship.” 

You two share a laugh as you looked over to see Bucky berating the raccoon as he tried to pry his metal arm from his body. 

“Should we leave them to it?” Steve looked back to you. His eyes fluttered over your face, taking in every detail. He left deliberate glances to your lips with no attempt to act on anything. You roll your eyes playfully, “Yeah, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” 

—————————————————————

“It’s so beautiful.” 

You and Steve had made your way into the palace, now standing in a room high above the colony. You were looking out of the windows, which touched from floor to ceiling, still stunned by the advancement of Wakanda. 

“I couldn’t agree more.” 

You could feel Steve’s presence behind you now. Even from behind, you could feel his eyes rake over your body. He was trying to memorize every curve, every muscle, every ripple in your skin. 

You turned to face him, as he didn’t seem as infatuated with sightseeing, more so interested in you. You tilted your head to the side as you caught the longing look in his eyes. “I was talking about this place. Wakanda.” You quirk an eyebrow at him. 

“That may be what you’re talking about, sweetheart, but I was talking about something twice as stunning.” 

“Always such a charmer, Steven?” You rolled your eyes at his sickeningly sweet attempt to woo you. You didn't want to admit it, but even after all this time he still had hold of your heart. 

The wind was pulled from your lungs as he grabbed a hold of your waist and pulled you flush against his body. Your eyes found his as he studied you more intently now. His grip on you not letting up, as if he was afraid you’d run or disappear. 

His face was closer now, his breath fanning your face as he spoke, “I miss you. I want you.” His voice came out as a low grumble, vibrating your entire body. 

“And as much as I miss you, I think I want the old cap back. What do you say we get rid of that bear growing on your face? Don’t get me wrong, it’s sexy, but..” 

“I get it, I get.” Steve chuckled as he pulled back, but not before placing a faint kiss to your lips, the feeling lingering just a little longer as he turned away, making his way to the bathroom. 

You stood there for a second, watching him disappear into the bathroom as you contemplate your next move. Once you realized he wasn’t going to come back for you, you hastily made your way after him, eager to be close to him again.

Steve’s body hovers over the bathtub, adjusting the temperature of the steady flow pouring into the tub. You move to stand behind him, your fingers running up his sides and he shivers, leaning  into your touch a bit. Your lips find their way to his neck, placing careful kisses along the curve of it, all the way down to his shoulder. 

“You gonna let me take care of you, Cap?” Your voice comes out soft, and you’re almost embarrassed because of it. But you knew it didn’t really matter, because you knew he loved it. He turns to face you, grinning like the cocky shit he’d become as he caged you in against the bathroom sink. 

“S’that what you want, sweetheart? To take care of your captain?” You shiver as his hands slide their way up your shirt, caressing your skin lightly. You roll your eyes, biting down on your bottom lip, trying to hide the smirk that desperately wanted to escape. You knew what he was getting at, and honestly, two could play that game.

“Yes, captain.” Your response doesn’t take any thought, and neither does his next move as he pulls your shirt over your head, flinging it into the corner of the room. You give his shirt the same treatment, and he chuckles as you struggle to pull it over his broad shoulders. He gives you some help, taking it off the rest of the way. You let your eyes travel down his chest while your hands go up it, and his hands find their way to the clip of your bra. Your back arches as he unclips your bra, letting it slip down your arms and onto the floor. He audibly growls and you laugh, pushing him back a little. You begin to wiggle your way out of your pants, never breaking eye contact with him. “Come on, Steve. I’ve never known you to be this slow. You can keep up, can’t you?” You tease him, giggling as you watch his eyes grow darker. Stepping out of your pants, your panties are the next to go. You can feel the nerves bubble in your chest, but it just makes this moment all the more exciting. 

You saunter over to the bathtub, stepping in and lowering yourself down slowly. You quirk an eyebrow up at him, silently telling him to get on with it. You settle yourself into the water, hissing at the feeling of the warmth that covered your aching body. Before you know it, the water was rippling once again as his much larger body made its way into the tub with you. You watched him for a second before scooting down towards him, and he didn’t hesitate to pull you into his lap.

“Missed your pretty face..” Steve nuzzles his nose into your neck and you giggle, bringing your hands up to run your fingers through his hair. You shift so you’re straddling his lap, your hands resting on his broad shoulders, pushing him back gently to rest against the wall. You let your hands travel to his beard, smirking as your fingers tangle themselves in it. You reach for the clippers resting on the side of the bathtub, tilting your head as you eye him, curiously. 

“I don’t know if I actually want it gone so soon.. It’s startin’ to grow on me. Maybe just a little trim.” 

“Maybe… Maybe you let me take what's mine first.”

“Just as impatient as always.. Relax, golden boy.” He snorts at that, letting his fingers run up your sides, occasionally dipping below the water. You just hum, running the razor carefully over the hairs of his face. Before you could make a move, you felt his hands on your hips, hoisting you out of the water. Your yelp of surprise turned into a quiet whimper when you felt his hardening member graze the inside of your thigh. “S-Steve..” He shushes you, his half lidded eyes running over your form, causing you to shiver in his hold. “It can wait. I need you, babydoll.” His voice comes out in a thick, slurred drawl. You roll your eyes, setting down the blade. 

“You’re lucky I don’t knick you with that.” Your threats are empty, of course, and he knew that too. It was all in good fun. The fun was cut short when the breath was knocked out of your lungs as he thrusts into you with no warning. You whimper, hands flying up to his shoulders as your nails dig into his skin. You bite your lip to hold in a moan as he slowly pulls back out. 

“Nuh-uh, none of that. Want to hear you. Hear how much you missed me.” his thumb comes up to your mouth, pulling on your lip until you release it. He then takes that as a go ahead to resume, lifting his hips up and pushing back into you. He lets his head fall back against the wall with a thud, his mouth falling open. “Fuck, baby. You’re so tight. You been savin’ this pussy for me?” he growls, taking on a brutal pace, making the water slosh up and over the side of the tub. 

You nod vigorously in response, nails raking down his chest. “Yes, sir. Waited for you.” You whine, bouncing up and down to meet the powerful thrusts of his cock. “That’s right, babydoll. This pussy is mine. And mine only.” his eyes are dark as he watches where you connect. 

His mouth goes to your neck, kissing you gently, a nice contrast to everything else. Bringing your hands up to his face, you pull him away from your neck and up to your face, capturing his lips in a deep kiss. He wastes no time sliding his tongue past your lips, yours immediately submitting to him. 

Suddenly, you cry out into his mouth as you feel his thumb on your clit, flicking harshly. “Steve, steve please.” your hand goes to his wrist, holding it in place to chase that feeling. He smirks against your lips, pulling away. 

“Use your words, princess. What do you want, huh?”

He’s driving you mad, and in any other instance you’d leave to finish off yourself just to spite him, but you need him. “Please let me cum, steve. M’so close.” you pant, grinding against him. He gives you what you want, pushing on your clit just a little bit harder, sending you over the edge. You squeeze around his cock, taking him with you. He moans, holding you in place as he cums deep inside of you and you squeal. 

“Steven! You know i don’t use birth control, you dumbass!” You quickly pull off of him, stepping out of the tub. You grab a towel, wrapping it around yourself. You turn around to glare at him, head tilted as if to wait for an explanation. 

He laughs, stepping out after you. “Just doing what I should've done a long time ago, doll. Gotta make you mine. We’ll work out the details as time goes, but I want this with you. I don’t want to leave again.” Your face softens as you nod, walking into his arms, laying your head on his chest. “I want it too. Whatever it is. Promise we’ll stick together this time? No matter what?”

“I promise.”

#steve rogers x reader angst #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader fluff #steve rogers x reader smut #smut #marvel #avenger #bucky barnes x reader #bruce banner #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america x reader #nomad steve

[clefairymuke]

daydream | chapter one

next chapter

pairing: armin arlert x reader

themes: college/modern au, slowburn, friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, smut

tw: recreational drug use, drinking, explicit sexual content

word count: 1705

The clock was obnoxiously loud with its endless ticking as you struggled to answer yet another dreaded short response prompt, your eyes threatening to trail over to the paper next to yours. You cursed your professor in your head, wondering who had the audacity to dub them "short answer" when answering every nit-picking facet of the question required at least a page-long essay to respond to the prompt in its entirety. The pen would soon break through the paper with how aggressively you were pushing it down. Against your better judgement, you allowed yourself to glance at your friend's paper. All you were able to read was the scrawled cursive "Armin Arlert" at the top before it was pulled from the table and started its journey to the professor's desk. Armin shot you a side eye as he threw his bag over his shoulder, and you returned a feigned apologetic grin. You watched as he waltzed confidently to the front of the room. Everything was so easy for him.

You sighed as he laid his paper on Professor Hange's desk and left. You knew he'd be outside waiting on the bench by the sidewalk when you finally finished; it was looking like he would be there for at least an hour. You tried to focus. What exactly had you learned so far in Biology 220? As far as you knew, the answer was absolutely nothing. After another while of pretending to think while actually berating yourself internally for your lack of studying, you did what you do best: you wrote down 200 words of absolute bullshit and hoped for a passing grade. It had put you through a year and a half of school -- you hoped it wouldn't fail you now.

It made sense for Armin to do well. After all, he was a biology major on the premed track. You, on the other hand, chose English on the form last minute in order to take the least amount of science and math possible. Learning that general education required sequences instead of singular courses had smacked you in the mouth. You erased the last word and fixed your handwriting three times before you finally decided you were finished, taking the paper up front to join Armin's and relishing in the sunlight hitting your face as you left the building.

"How'd you do?" Armin asked sweetly, perched on the nearest of many walkway-side benches along the campus. You saw a coffee in his hand. As you got closer, you noticed one for you sitting next to him. You smiled.

"I honestly think I did fucking awful. I haven't retained anything from Hange's class at all. She's not even a bad teacher -- I think it just isn't for me," you answered, taking a seat and lifting the coffee to your lips. It was your favorite.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his head. He'd had a haircut only the day before; he always toyed with the prickly hair on the back of his neck for the first few days after one. You wondered if he'd ever get used to having his hair shorter. "I've offered to help you, you know. I always say I'll start studying with you, and you always say we will. Then I end up studying while you lay there on your phone halfway listening."

"Well, midterms are over now. Maybe I'll let you teach me a thing or two before finals. What's important is that spring break starts now." For a moment you could see yourself and Armin laid out on the beach, sun soaking into your skin with the soft crashing of waves present only a few yards away; that was the definition of heaven. You saw Armin grin as he started to pull his bag over his shoulder in preparation for your walk to his dorm. A common misconception about your friend was that he was a stick in the mud; however, this was decidedly the furthest thing from the truth. Although he was perfect academically -- 4.0 GPA, active in student organizations, one of the way-too-happy people that shows the freshmen around campus each year -- he knew how to have a good time. Perhaps it was years of corruption from you and your other friends (Eren and Jean, in particular), but outside of a god-awful science class, he was easily your favorite person to be around.

The two of you walked side by side across campus, chatting idly about the party you both planned to attend that night and the long drive that awaited you come morning. It was the perfect weather out, a sunny and comfortable 70 degrees. Armin was dressed in an old-looking T-shirt advertising some bedroom pop artist you were unfamiliar with, making it more than noticeable how much he had filled out since he bought it. Khaki shorts hung a few inches above his knees. You had to look up at him when you spoke, quite the contrast to the many years your friendship spanned before. His eyes, though, were still the same blue, and that was unlikely to change.

When you arrived at his building, you trudged up the stairs behind him, grateful you would soon be able to sit down. Walking everywhere was not your favorite activity, but the campus was quite small, and driving would be overkill. You waltzed into the room as you did nearly every day, throwing a hand up to greet Eren. He had his arm thrown lazily around a girl you didn't recognize, his half-up half-down hair falling in his face as he nodded back at you with a smile, eyes half-open and glossy red.

You practically threw yourself into Armin's bed, which was neatly made aside from the plush blue blanket that laid across the yellow duvet. You were quickly underneath it, making short work toward comfort as you nuzzled into a pillow. Armin took the time to put his things away and change into loose-fitting charcoal sweatpants before taking a seat at your side, fiddling with a time-passing puzzle game on his phone.

"I think we should just stay in instead of going to the party and taking that trip. I'm pretty comfortable, and I have plenty of sleep to catch up on," you told him, the joke barely present in your voice. He chuckled, leaning back across your legs onto the wall behind him.

"You're required to come to the party," Eren called over to you, taking his lips away from the nameless girl's neck. "We promised Jean. And you're required to come on the trip, because we can't afford the Airbnb without your charitable contribution."

"Besides," Armin chimed in, looking over at you, "you were lucky your request off got approved. Think of the poor souls that are stuck behind the register at Barnes and Noble this week. They wouldn't want you to use their vacation in vain."

"When you put it that way. . ." you laughed, checking the time on your phone. "What time did Jean tell us to come?"

"Nine," Armin responded quickly, switching from his game to Twitter. It was only 4:06, according to the white numbers above the picture of you and Armin at your high school graduation. You had quite a bit of time to kill.

"Want to watch a movie?" you asked the blond boy at your side. You were already holding the Xbox controller before he could reply. You got on Disney+, arguably your favorite part of being in Armin's dorm, then tossed the controller toward him to choose. He chose, as he always did, some superhero movie that you would pretend to hate and secretly love. He looked over at you and grinned wide, pressing play.

As the opening sequence rolled, you figured it wasn't the worst way to waste time.

---

The party was lame in the best way. Of course, no one outside of the typical circle had shown -- Connie and Sasha, Marco, the current girl hanging from Eren's hip (Ellie, maybe?), Ymir and Historia, and Eren's sister, Mikasa. Or, at least, he called her his sister. She was adopted -- and desperately in love with him -- and you wished he would avoid calling her that for the sake of saving face. Watching her sit angrily next to him while he toyed with the girl's hair was almost as awkward as the way Jean sat next to Mikasa, beer in his hand and flirting without shame. Connie, Sasha, and Ymir spent nearly the entire party trying to convince Historia and Marco to try smoking on Connie's new bong. Between all of these preoccupied people, you and Armin were left sharing a recliner, passing a blunt back and forth and discussing the plans for tomorrow.

Jean's apartment was trashed in the way a 19-year-old boy's would typically be, soda and beer cans lining the tables and clearly visible dust on his furniture. If you squinted, you'd see he was using his U.S. History textbook as a rolling tray. Professor Erwin would be disappointed.

Your thoughts had begun to become fuzzier and fuzzier. You could tell Armin was feeling the same by the way he giggled uncontrollably at a stupid joke Connie made across the room, causing you to chuckle. He was pretty when he laughed, white teeth poking past his lips as his clear blue eyes squinted into almost nothing. It didn't help that they were already half-closed, pink and red lining his blue irises. You and Armin were social smokers, and drinkers, and what came with that was the unfortunate fact that you were both very lightweight.

You listened absentmindedly to the soft R&B Jean was playing, obnoxiously enough, from Pandora on his TV. Every time an ad played, you died a little inside. You found yourself thanking those that didn't come tonight. Eventually, when you were all in some way intoxicated, you all gathered to watch a movie. You had never heard of it, but Jean and Eren were big fans, which meant it was likely some action film with a bit of plot if you squinted at it.

Before the title screen, you had your head laid on Armin's shoulder, gently drifting to sleep.

This was peace.

#AoT #aot fanfiction #aot x reader #aot fic #snk #snk x reader #snk fic #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #armin #armin arlert #armin x reader #armin x you #au #college au #modern au #friends to lovers #slowburn #aot au #loss of virginity #fluff #smut #aot smut #college armin

[silverstarsheep]

Oh man, it’s a fic for the “Coffee Shop AU,” which is lead by @doodledrawsthings​.

I started this really early on and wrestled with it a lot, so things changed and shifted a bit since I started writing it. Looking at the new stuff vs. old, I’m surprised what details I got accurate, and not at all surprised at what I got wrong. Quite a lot of it is super super SUPER inaccurate, sorry.

This is more or less my take on Luka’s transformation, so... Take it for what you will, haha.

I also finished it a while back, but never had the guts to actually post it for one reason or another--I may as well post it anyway, since it’s gotten this far.

Word count: 6,749

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Luka nearly flew out of the restaurant and into the cooler-than-normal evening air, stumbling down a few of the steps leading to the door. The sound of rain could be heard all around him--it hadn’t let up since he arrived. Standing underneath the awning with his umbrella cradled in the crook of his right arm, he stuffed both hands into his pockets, puffing out a frustrated sigh. His face was burning hot, and his chest was tight with indignation.

He should have known that a call to “make amends” from Vanessa was going to be a big, fat lie. Luka’s brow creased, and he stared at the damp pavement beneath the bottom step, silently wondering why he had ever thought that such would have been the case. During the legal battles of divorce and custody, that vile woman more than demonstrated her ice-cold and vitriolic feelings towards him.

Maybe, deep down, he still felt something for her... And he did truly want to make amends. Too bad the same wasn’t true for Vanessa.

Popping his umbrella open, he finally trotted down the rest of the stairs and to the sidewalk. It was about time that he went home, but along the way he needed to pick up little Harriet from her friend’s house. Hopefully she wouldn’t mind walking in the rain, but somehow he doubted she would.

As he turned the corner, he couldn’t help but shiver. Frown creasing his features further, he thought to himself, “Wasn’t it supposed to be in the 70′s tonight?” If only he had worn a thicker sweater... If it got any colder, he would have been able to see his breath!

To make matters worse, in the corner of his eye Luka could make out little white dots bouncing around on the ground. Pace slowing a bit, it wasn’t long before he was hearing heavier objects hitting his umbrella. Hail?! For pity’s sake, can’t he catch a break for just a second? Holding the umbrella tight, he started to run down the sidewalk, having to skid to a halt when he realized that he had nearly overshot his friend’s house.

Bounding up the porch, he knocked on the door, drumming his fingers against the umbrella’s handle. The door opened, however instead of being met with her caregiver, he was instead met with the very small, curly-haired Bonnie. She stared up at him with her big, purple eyes for a moment, then gave him a toothy grin.

“Hi!” she chirped. She looked over her shoulder, “Ms. Tina! Mr. Luka is here!”

“Tell him to come in, please!” he could hear a woman’s voice call from inside. Tina must have been making dinner.

The smell of steamed vegetables hit his senses in just the right way, causing his stomach to growl a little. However as he took in a deep breath, Luka’s throat felt rather sore. Not wanting to assume the worst, he simply brushed it off as him having raised his voice a bit too much when he spoke with Vanessa. The conversation did get quite heated, after all--but with Vanessa, one could say that she was always chilling.

Bonnie motioned for him to come inside as she skipped into the living room herself. The home was comfortably warm, a welcome change from the cold, wet outside. She flopped back onto the floor right next to Harriet, who was lying on her stomach and holding a purple crayon in a crab-like vice grip. She looked up and smiled.

“Oh, hi, dad!” she kicked her legs up into the air and drew both arms to her chest, “Did it go okay with mom...?”

“Hey, kiddo.” Luka replied with a sigh. He didn’t reply at first, trying to think over his response. Standing in the door frame he shook his folded umbrella off over the porch, then placed it inside beside the door. He could feel Harriet’s eyes piercing into him.

“Sorry to say, it didn’t go so well,” he finally stated, his shoulders slumping significantly. His daughter was young, but he knew she was smart. There was no sense hiding it, but the look of disappointment on her face made him feel regret tweak at his heart.

Bonnie spoke up, “She didn’t use any of her,” the girl wiggled her fingers in a “mysterious” fashion, “Eeevil magic on you, did she?”

Blinking, Luka couldn’t help but smirk, “Oh, no... She didn’t!” he grinned, “But if she did,” he grabbed his umbrella and brandished it like a sword, droplets of water scattering about, “I would’ve fought her off!”

When the two girls giggled at his display, Luka relaxed a bit. For Harriet, laughter was a powerful tool in these harsh times. First and foremost, making her happy and keeping her healthy was his biggest goal.

Just as he set the umbrella back down, Bonnie’s caregiver, Tina, stepped into the living room. She gave Luka a warm smile, “Hey! It sure sounds like it’s coming down out there, did you manage to stay dry?”

“I’m mostly dry, but it started hailing on the way here!”

Tina blinked, her dark brown eyes wide, “Hail?” she asked in a doubtful tone, “This time of year?” she made way towards the still open door and peered through it. Her eyebrows rose in surprise, “Wow! Isn’t that something...” she squared her shoulders and placed her hands on her hips, “Well, I can’t let you walk home in that...”

“It surprised me, too,” Luka huffed, rubbing the back of his neck, “Would it be too much to wait it out here?”

“Not a problem at all!” she flashed Luka a bright smile, “I can add some more to the dinner if you’d like to stay! Once Honey gets here, we can have a nice, big meal!”

Closing the door, Luka shot a glance to his daughter, “What do you think?” he asked, having to clear his throat, “Wanna eat dinner here?” his throat was starting to feel worse. Was he suddenly coming down with a cold, or something?

The girl threw both arms into the air, nearly tossing her crayon in the process, “Yeah!! Ms. Tina’s food is the best!”

Tina laughed in a merry way, then started for the kitchen once more. She muttered quietly to herself as she thought about how many more vegetables to steam, how many patties to fry... However she stopped in her tracks when Luka gently flagged her down.

“Need any help?” he asked. There was a sudden weight on his shoulders, as if someone had put a thick blanket over him. Despite this, he didn’t want to impose on such a good friend, especially after she had so kindly watched his daughter!

The woman smiled brightly and gave a wave of her hand, “Oh no! It’s a real simple meal tonight, but it’ll be delicious all the same,” she motioned to the couch, “Why don’t you watch the girls? That’d be a mighty help.”

“S-sure,” he replied, clearing his throat again, “But can I,” he cleared his throat again, this time ending with a small coughing fit, “Mmh, can I get a glass of water?”

Concern creasing her brow, Tina replied, “Well sure... Are you alright?”

With slow and careful movements, Luka took a seat, “Hm... All of the sudden, I’m not...” he rubbed at his face, it was burning hot, “I’m not feeling so great...”

“Dad, your face is all red!” Harriet remarked in shock.

“Goodness, she’s right!” Tina leaned over him, gently placing her hands on his arm and back, “Maybe you should go home and rest up!”

Brow creasing, Luka rubbed his forehead with the base of his palm. He took a moment to answer, but eventually nodded. Going home would be best... If he was getting sick, he didn’t want to risk making anyone else ill.

“Okay, Bonnie,” Tina said with a clap of her hands, “Get your shoes on.” when Bonnie rushed to her room to grab a pair of socks, Tina turned back to Luka, “Don’t you worry, I’ll drive you over. It’s not far, but I don’t think you’re in any condition to walk there, especially in hail.”

Luka merely nodded in agreement, however he looked to Harriet, “Hey, kiddo... You wanna spend the night here...?”

She shook her head briskly, her ponytail slapping the side of her face, “No! I need to make sure you’re okay, dad!” she said firmly. She went to the door to grab her shoes. Well, looks like that was settled...

Once Bonnie and Harriet had gotten their shoes on, the four of them piled into Tina’s mini van, and were off.

Trying to keep himself awake, Luka attempted to make small talk, “So... How’s it been fostering Bonnie?” he asked.

Tina smiled, “It’s been going wonderfully, but...” she sighed as they reached a stop sign, “We’re nearing the end of the 13 month care...”

Luka gripped his seat belt with both hands, “Have you and Honey... Considered adopting her?” he asked in a hopeful tone

Smile faltering, Tina seemed to hesitate before easing on the brakes, “Yes, but... Getting the paperwork cleared has been a struggle. Honey and I haven’t had any luck...”

“Ah, sorry... Maybe I can help you clear things up a bit?” Luka offered. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open.

“I’d appreciate that, and I’m sure Bonnie would, too!” Tina chimed with a toothy grin, “You need to put all that law studying to good use, huh?”

With the vehicle thoroughly pelted with hail, and a couple blocks later, they pulled into Luka’s drive. The father-daughter pair said their goodbyes and quickly retreated inside, however the hail was finally starting to subside. Now that they were home, it was time to get Harriet some supper.

Frankly, he wasn’t feeling very hungry himself, but one way or another he had to make sure that his daughter ate. He shambled into the kitchen and pried open the fridge--the seal was oddly tighter than usual--where he produced a frozen kid’s meal. Harriet stood in the door frame, watching him with worry in her eyes. She wrung her little hands nervously.

“Dad, I can make it myself!” she urged. She knew how to use the microwave...! It was just a little hard to know how many zeros to put on it when cooking something, and she often forgot to stir it halfway through... But she didn’t mind eating it a little cold! Honest!

Luka pulled a knife from the drawer and started poking holes into the film. He glanced over his shoulder with a weak smile, “Don’t worry about it, kiddo.” he said with a low voice. Using his head, he motioned for her to go to the bathroom, “Why don’t you kick off your shoes and wash your hands?”

Hesitating, Harriet bit her lower lip. She didn’t want to leave her dad alone... But if she was quick about it, then it wouldn’t be a problem! Maybe she could even grab her stool from the bathroom so she could reach the microwave buttons, and kitchen sink. Then she could make her dad a meal, too! The girl rushed deeper into the house without another word.

In the bathroom, Harriet made quick work of washing her hands, knocking over the soap bottle in the process of dispensing some of the foam onto her hands. She’d pick it up later! As she rushed to rinse her hands, she noticed her dear owl plush, Professor Popcorn, sitting by the sink. She had to rinse off his dear little beak this morning, and she must have left him there when she heard she was going to visit Bonnie.

Wringing her hands dry on a towel, she picked him up carefully, “Professor!” she cried, “Dad’s feeling sick, what do we do?”

She tried to imitate the voice her father would use when speaking for the owl by making her voice sound deeper, “Hm, I say that a hot bowl of soup will fix him right up!” she waved the plush around gently to make it look like he was talking.

“You’re right, Professor Popcorn!” Harriet confirmed with a nod, “Dad loves chicken soup, and we got a can of it! I can heat it up in the microwave!”

“I’ll help you read the instructions!” she had the professor conclude, manipulating his wing to adjust his glasses.

Meanwhile, Luka’s time was starting to get harder. His vision was getting hazy, his head was spinning, and his entire body felt sore. Dark splotches obscured his vision, and it almost looked as though his own arms were starting to turn dark.

Rubbing at his forehead with his knuckles, there was a loud clatter as the knife tumbled out of his hands and fell to the floor. Thankfully it didn’t land anywhere near his foot, however it was curious; he had a tight grip on that between his finger and thumb.

Pain snaked its way through his body as he leaned over to pick it up, causing him to grit his teeth and close his eyes tightly. He froze in place, one hand pressed against the counter top as one reached for the ground. Sweat began to pour from his brow in droves, drip, drip dripping onto his arm and the floor. At that point he had dared to open his eyes, and his stomach did a back-flip when he saw the state of his hand.

It... Wasn’t his hand anymore, or at least, it didn’t look like his hand. It had been replaced with a paw-like two-fingered hand that was a deep shade of purple. Said purple was slithering up his arm with snake-like tendrils. Losing his grip on the counter, Luka only managed to gasp as he fell roughly onto his knees. He looked to his right hand, which was much the same--thumbless and purple. No wonder he had dropped the knife! The purple substance had reached well past his elbow there.

The lights above flickered as fear struck his heart. With clumsy movements he tried to manipulate his new “hands” to try and scrape and push the purple stuff off of him, but all that succeeded in was sending droplets of purple onto the tiled floor. His arms remained unchanged, and the color only seemed to pick up the pace as it soon reached his shoulder and crept up his neck.

Bowling over as pain overtook him, Luka wrapped both arms around his stomach and pressed his forehead against the now-damp floor. His jaw was locked open, his eyes were as wide as saucers, and his vision was filled with a golden light as tears streamed from them.

Fabric ripped and shredded as his form shifted and grew. The lights buzzed as they flickered wildly. A mane sprouted from his neck, ripping and tearing his shirt further. It didn’t take long for his entire body to be shrouded in the purple tone. Finally, when his legs began to twist together, Luka let out a scream.

The kitchen lights burst. The house was shrouded in darkness.

When the lights began to flicker, Harriet clutched Professor Popcorn close to her chest, gasping in fear. She hated it when the power went out! She closed her eyes as the lights buzzed.

“D-dad?!” she cried. That was when she heard his scream, and her heart fluttered. She yelped when the lights went out, and without thinking about it she jumped from her stool and rushed into the hallway. However her pace slowed, her hand gently guiding her along the hall when she heard an inhuman panting from in the kitchen.

It sounded like there was some kind of monster in there... But monsters weren’t real, right? Dad always told her that she had nothing to be afraid of under her bed or in her closet... So the only thing that should be in the kitchen was her dad....

Right?

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and every fiber in her body was telling her to run away, to hide under her bed until the power came on, or her dad coaxed her out... But despite her wanting to scream at her legs to stop, they carried her all the way to the kitchen door.

The house was dark, but there was just enough light for Harriet to see. In the kitchen, however, it was as if something had absorbed all of the light. It was pitch black, and she couldn’t make anything out--even the window had turned black.

Harriet fought back her tears. She was so frightened that she could barely speak, but she just had to make sure her father was ok. She finally managed to speak up again with a squeak, “Dad...?”

Something in the darkness moved. She could hear it shuffling about. Slithering around like a giant snake. Her grip around her plush tightened, and her heart nearly sprung into her mouth. A set of bright, golden eyes appeared in the darkness, illuminating a bit of the kitchen with yellow light. She could just make out the shape of the eye’s owner--big and purple, with a scruffy-looking mane. It had a long, long body, and two arms that propped it up.

Around it were scraps of clothes and little puddles of a dark liquid. In the dim light she couldn’t tell what color those were, but her imagination quickly filled in the blanks--blood.

It was blood. It was her father’s blood. Whatever monster this was had ripped her dad to ribbons and ate him, leaving nothing but his shredded clothing behind.

Harriet’s mouth dropped open, but nothing escaped her throat but air. Tears were streaming from her eyes. The monster opened its own mouth, revealing its wicked, sharp fangs. More golden light spilled out into the kitchen from the beast’s maw. Its breathing was raspy. It shuffled about and moved its mouth as if trying to speak.

“Ha... Harri....” it croaked. It almost sounded like her father. Chills washed through the girl’s tiny body, and her hairs stood on end, “Ha.. rriet...” oh peck, it knew her name!

It reached out to her with inhuman fingers. Frozen in place, Harriet hadn’t a single clue what to do. Her legs continued to refuse to listen to her--now that she wanted to move, they were suddenly cemented to the carpet. She whimpered pathetically.

Hot fingers brushed against her cheek, the tips of claws gently caressing her face. Harriet inhaled. Then she shrieked. As loud as she could she screamed bloody murder, and the monster shrank back in shock. Her legs finally listened to her, and she bolted for the door, which she flung open and didn’t think to close behind her.

“W... Wai... Wait!!” the monster called. But it fell on deaf ears.

Not only did Luka’s body ache, but his heart did, too. He never wanted to frighten his daughter, he never wanted to make her feel unsafe or in danger. But now, it almost seemed as though he had no choice. Whatever form he had taken on mortified the poor child, and now she was running into the late evening streets, completely unprotected.

He had to go after her. He had to make sure she was safe, and he had to let her know that her dad was still here, despite not looking the same anymore. He attempted to push himself upright, however he quickly realized that he no longer had legs. When they had twisted together in such a painful manner, they had fused together to make one long tail. There was no way he could chase after her like this!

He’d just have to drag himself, then. With his arms he began to haul himself past the tile, over the carpet, and through the door. As he lowered himself off of the porch, he realized that his body was remarkably light. He had no issue dragging himself across the ground, and now that he was on the stairs, he felt as though he were...

Floating?! He could float? There wasn’t any time to question it... He’d just have to take it as a blessing in disguise and hope that he could use it to his advantage. He pushed himself off of the ground, and much to his surprise, he remained in the air. Twisting his body this way and that like a snake, he quickly found that this mode of transportation was much faster than crawling around like a newborn. As he got the hang of it, he could pick up the pace.

Man, he hoped no one would see him like this...

Rounding the corner, Luka looked this way and that until he caught a glimpse of Harriet, who was bolting down the sidewalk towards the park. He gasped, “Harriet!” his voice boomed. It echoed and carried throughout the subdivision, causing a few dogs to start barking in shock. Even Harriet was surprised, and she tripped over her own feet and smacked into the pavement.

Luka clapped a hand over his mouth. Goodness, did his voice carry! He was sure to be seen now. Before he could catch up to her, his daughter had picked herself up and was running with new strength across the road to the park. Her beloved owl doll lay limp on the cracked pavement.

“W-wait, please, wait!” Luka called, pathetically trying to moderate his voice, “Hatty, please!” he hoped that the fond nickname would cause her to pause, but she kept on running. If he could have seen her face, he would have noted that her eyes were screwed shut. Thank goodness no cars were coming...

Making haste to pick up the doll, Luka was hot on Harriet’s tail. He could hear a few people poking out of their houses nearby, which only made him speed up. He quickly hopped over the brick wall and started his search for Harriet, looking in, around and under anything that she could have been inside of.

Finally, he found her huddled in the corner of one wall, concealed by a bush coated in flowers. She was shaking like a leaf and trying her hardest to hold back terrified sobs. Coiling himself inside the bush, he hoped that it would be enough to hide himself as he tried to console his daughter.

“Harriet?” he cooed. His voice was still too loud, even as he tried to whisper. It didn’t sound right, “Harriet, it’s me--it’s...”

She pushed herself further into the corner, turning her head towards the wall. She sobbed quietly, and Luka’s lower lip trembled.

“Sweetheart, please--please don’t be...”

This time Harriet sobbed louder, hiccuping into her knees. Luka shrank back a little looking at his empty hand. Could he really console her like this? When he looked and sounded like a monster? He then looked to the plush he held in his right hand. Professor Popcorn... Maybe this could help.

Holding the owl out, Luka tried to hide his face behind the plush as he put on the special voice he always used for the dear old professor, “H-hey there, kiddo! It’s me, Professor Popcorn!” the owl waved his little wing, and Harriet lifted her head. Luka dared to crack a weak smile, “I know things are really scary right now... But I just want ya to know that everything’s gonna be O-KAY!”

Harriet turned, staring intently at the doll. The way he moved, the way he spoke... It was exactly like how her dad would talk when they played together. Sure, his voice sounded a little... Scary, but the tone, the inflections... They were all the same.

“And that I love you...” Luka’s voice started to seep into Professor Popcorn’s, “Very, very much...”

Harriet dared to look up. Through the branches and leaves she could make out the monster’s face, his eyes glowing faintly. As he took on a gentle expression and leaned forward, she could almost see her father’s face in its features...

“... Y-you... Dropped him while you were running...” Luka continued, “I know how much you hate it when his beak gets dirty.”

Tears were spilling from her eyes again, and she shuffled about anxiously. Was it? Could it be?! Her eyes darted up and down his body, doubts still sprouting in her mind. But all the same, she wanted to believe it. She wanted it to be true, because it was an awful lot better than her dad being gone.

“Da... aad??” she hiccuped. Luka smiled weakly and nodded. With a loud sob she jumped into his arms, pressing her face into his scruffy-looking purple mane, which was surprisingly soft. She buried her nose into it, drinking in his smell. He looked different, he sounded different, but now she knew, this was her dad.

Wrapping his hands around her tiny frame, he gently rubbed the back of her head, whispering into her ear, “Shhh... It’s okay, it’s okay...” he took in a shaky breath, “I’m still here, dad’s still here...”

Harriet continued to sob. She must have been so frightened. Guilt stung at his chest, knowing that he was the cause of her terror... However he nearly jumped when she started to spurt out apologies. He backed away, his brow creased.

“What are you apologizing for?”

Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, Harriet hiccuped again and sniffled, “I... I thought you were a m-monster,” she replied, “An... And you ate my dad... I ha-hated you for a little bit...”

Carefully cradling her shoulders in his hands, Luka shook his head, “No no, you have nothing to be sorry for, Hatty. I... I’d be scared, too.” with one finger he wiped away a tear, “But you know, you’re very brave,” he added, “You looked me in the face now, and realized I wasn’t a monster.”

A little smile appeared on Harriet’s lips as she continued to sniffle, “E-even if you look like a monster,” she whispered, “I... I still love you, dad.”

Scooping up into his arms, Luka gave his daughter a tight squeeze. There was some relief that washed over him, knowing that his daughter still loved him despite all of this, however worry had started to snake its way into his mind. How was he going to care for her when he looked like this? He hadn’t even seen his own reflection yet, but considering how Harriet reacted, he wouldn’t be able to even face his best of friends...

Suddenly, there was a jab at his lower end, as if someone had prodded him with a stick. Crap, he had been seen! Tensing up, the length of his body coiled tighter as he held Harriet closer to his chest, protecting her from sight and harm with his torso. He must not have concealed himself enough. Curse this snake-like body!

“A-alright!” a man’s voice demanded, “Come out, y-you... Beast!”

Luka’s body went cold. What was he to do now?! Fear had pooled in Harriet’s eyes once again, and she clung to his mane as tightly as she could. He could feel her little body trembling.

“Come out or I’ll shoot!”

He realized he didn’t have a choice. He popped out from the bush, scattering leaves and flower petals everywhere. A group of ten or eleven adults had gathered, a few of them with children who were cowering behind their legs and clinging to their pant legs. The group gasped audibly, backing away as they erupted into distress.

“Oh gosh, it’s got a kid!” one shrieked. This caused a few screams within the group, and Harriet to try and hide.

“SOMEBODY CALL THE POLICE!”

“No, get animal control!”

“Roger, just SHOOT the thing, already!!”

The man in front, who was holding a hunter’s gun, was quite literally shaking in his boots. He aimed his weapon, but his moment of hesitation gave Luka enough time to react. He wanted a distraction, a diversion of some kind, and when he screwed his eyes shut he somehow willed it to be. The area was suddenly plunged into darkness as if the sun had been blotted out. Both his daughter and the group screamed, but it was more than enough of a distraction as he leaped over the brick wall and flew off in search of a proper hiding spot.

The two emerged from the darkness as if it were a bubble. Blinking rapidly, Harriet peered over her father’s shoulder, finding it curious that the darkness was in such a concentrated area.

“D-did you do that?” she squeaked.

Glancing over his shoulder, Luka was equally surprised at what he had done. Frankly, he didn’t want to even think about it, “I-I guess so...” he replied. He dreaded the idea that powers came with this monstrous form, but as he lifted them above the treetops in hopes that they’d look like a bird or lost kite, he realized that his say didn’t matter.

Harriet continued to grip his mane for security, her eyes drifting to the land below, “Uh... We’re getting kinda high...”

“Sorry, I don’t want them to catch us,” he glanced at his daughter, “Is it too high?” he tightened his arms around her.

“N-no... I kinda like it.” she admitted. She fell silent for a few moments more, watching the city go by beneath them. She eventually asked, “Where are we going?”

Luka bit his lower lip, “Not sure... Somewhere to hide until the neighborhood calms down.”

“Um... Why not that old movie theater they closed down?” she suggested, “That should be big enough.”

“That sounds good.” Luka whispered in reply. It’d have to do for now, seeing he could sneak in through one of the doors. Or at the very least, they alleyway would suffice as a hiding place.

Locating the old movie theater, Luka had to squeeeeeze his way into the alleyway, between the brick walls. Was it just him, or had he gotten larger? He felt so big and obvious already! There was no way he’d be able to fit inside the theater like this, so he just hoped no one would be coming into the alleyway, especially this late.

He lowered Harriet to the ground, “We’ll stay here for a while...” he whispered.

“Dad, we’ve gotta get some help!” Harriet cried, however she tried keeping her voice down, “We need to find someone who can turn you back to normal!”

Luka’s tail twisted itself into knots, and his expression turned dour, “I don’t know anyone that can fix this,” he sighed, looking at his hands, “And going out now, with everyone in a tizzy about a monster... That’d be asking for trouble.”

“What about Ms. Tina and Honey?” Harriet persisted, “They might be able to help! They’ve got a real big basement you can hide in!” she threw her arms in the air to demonstrate.

“Harriet...” he placed a paw on the top of her head, “... No, I’m sorry. I need to lay low for a while. At least let things calm down. It’s hard telling if anyone would believe me.”

“Bonnie would...” she pouted in reply.

Heaving a sigh Luka paused to think, placing his free hand to where his chin would have normally been. If he was going to be laying low for a time, he couldn’t keep Harriet with him, now could he?

If anyone found out that he was a monster, there would be no chance of him being able to keep Harriet’s custody. After such a long and difficult battle, that made his stomach churn. The idea of Harriet falling into foster care, or even worse, falling into the custody of Vanessa, made his stomach do back flips. What was the best option here? His expression grew grim, a frown etching itself deeper and deeper into his dark features.

“You okay, dad?”

“Hey,” he spoke up, “Why don’t I drop you off at Tina’s house? She and Honey can take care of you for a while.” he paused, “Until I can get this all sorted.”

“What?!” the girl exclaimed, her eyes widening, “No! No way!” she pushed her father’s paw off her head and pressed her hands against his chest, “I’m staying with you!”

“Harriet--”

“I don’t want to leave you!” her fingers wrapped around his fur, “And, and--you’d be lonely without me!” tears welled in her big blue eyes again, “You need someone to scout for you, to see if there are people around! What if something happened, and I never saw you again?!” the tears spilled over her cheeks and down her chin.

“Hey, hey...” Luka cooed, placing his all-too-massive paws on her shoulders, “Okay... Okay, you can stay with me...” he hoped that he wouldn’t regret that decision.

Smiling, Harriet wiped her tears away, “Mean it?”

“Yeah.” Luka nodded, “I mean it.”

Lying on the ground, Luka allowed Harriet to climb into his crossed arms. They remained silent for a time as he waited for enough time to pass. He wondered if anyone would be checking out their house. He certainly hoped not, but he could imagine that most of his neighbors would recognize Harriet as the “hat kid from down the street” without much problem. He sighed.

Harriet’s stomach growled, “Dad,” she gently tugged at a tuft of fur, “I’m hungry.”

Lifting his head, Luka frowned. Shoot, he didn’t finish making her that frozen meal, did he? And he didn’t have his wallet, either, “Ah, sorry kiddo... You’ll have to wait a couple more minutes before we can try to go home.”

“Hm...” her little face scrunched up in thought, “Oh, I know! There’s a restaurant nearby, I think! I can dig out some food from the trash!” before her father could object, she jumped out of his arms and ran off.

With a quick motion, Luka grabbed her by the back of her shirt and lifted her in the air, “Oooh, no you don’t, kiddo!” she squirmed a little but quickly gave up, “I’m not letting you get a stomach bug, or eat a rat or something.” he couldn’t help but chuckle.

Folding her arms over her chest, Harriet pouted, “Aw... What if I wanted to eat a rat?”

Lifting himself into the air, he plopped her back into his arms, “Well, you’re not gonna.” he glanced to the sky, which had gone completely dark, “It ought to be late enough for everyone to go back home...” . At least he’d be able to hide fairly well in the dark of the night.

There were a number of police cars around the neighborhood. Luka’s body had gone cold again, not wanting to think about what would happen if one of them spotted him. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, and then slid across the subdivision, keeping low to the ground and hiding in any shadows he could find. He crawled over fences, through backyards, and around houses until they finally reached their destination.

Their house was still pitch dark. A few police cars had just pulled away from the front--had they investigated the home? Luka chewed on his cheek, hoping that they had gotten everything they needed by now and were all gone.

“Dad,” Harriet whispered, “There are people in the front, how will we get in?”

Eyes drifting along the back wall, he decided that they’d just have to break in. How odd was that? Breaking into your own house... Well, it had to be done. Hovering to the windows, he attempted to peer inside of one, however his glowing eyes were all that reflected back at him. He scoffed in disgust.

“You ok?” Harriet asked.

“Hey, can you do me a favor?” he asked. When she nodded, he held her up to the window, “Take a look inside, and let me know if you see anyone.”

Cupping her hands around her eyes, Harriet looked through the window with a scrutinizing stare, “All clear!” she said. The pair repeated this process a few more times until they eventually concluded that the house was empty. What a relief!

“Okay, hold onto me,” Luka said. Once Harriet’s arms were wrapped around him, he located her room’s window, and pried his fingers underneath the frame. It took a bit of work, but he eventually managed to pry it open with a loud grunt, “Okay, go inside, and get your clothes.”

Harriet frowned, “We can’t say here anymore...?”

Drooping a bit, Luka shook his head, “Sorry... We can’t. Not with everyone suspicious of it, now.”

Despite her feelings, she complied and crawled through the window. As she went to find her suitcase, she turned to the window, “Can you help me...?” she asked.

Narrowing his eyes, Luka wasn’t sure he’d fit in her room, let alone through the window. But, he’d give it a shot. Pressing his head through the window, he found it to be quite the tight squeeze, but after a few attempts, he managed to get inside, knocking over a lamp in the process. The bulb shattered upon impact with the ground.

“Oh!” Harriet cried. Realizing she rose her voice a bit too much, she shrank back a little and lowered her voice, “Did you get smaller?” she asked. It wasn’t a significant change by any means--he was still massive--but he fit in her little room better than he did the alleyway.

“I don’t know,” Luka shrugged with a furrowed brow. Picking the lamp off the ground, he didn’t really know what to make of this. But there was no time to dwell on it! They had clothes and food to pack!

Harriet passed her favorite outfits over to her father, who carefully folded them into a purple-colored suitcase. A tight fit, but Harriet managed to find space for a few toys by cramming them in the pockets. They grabbed her back pack, dumping Harriet’s kindergarten books unceremoniously onto the floor. With a larger duffel bag in tow, the pair went into the kitchen to pack more supplies.

Harriet’s bag was filled with the lighter supplies--money, bandages, Luka’s phone, a lighter, and a number of other necessities. As he took a few items, such as bandages, from the bathroom, that was when he finally got a good look at himself in the mirror. He stared at his reflection blankly at first, then his expression twisted into one of disgust. He turned away, not wanting to look at it any longer.

Back in the kitchen, the duffel bag was filled with whatever non-perishable foods Luka could find, as well as a pot or two. He double-checked everything in the bags, then slung the duffel over what shoulders he had. He had to tighten the strap to make sure it stayed in place.

Luka couldn’t think of anything else to pack, especially anything that wouldn’t weigh them down too much. He was certain that he’d think of more on their way out of the city, but at this point it was best to just get the both of them to someplace safe.

With everything in tow, Luka scooped Harriet into his arms, and slipped into the night, his sleek purple body blending perfectly in the dark. As he rose into the air, he ran a few options in his head; where they could hide, where they could find shelter, where they could get food... It was going to be terribly difficult for his little daughter, and he so desperately wished that he could have simply left her with a trusted friend instead.

Harriet spoke up when they were high enough to soar over buildings, pulling him from his thoughts, “Hey... Dad?”

“What’s up, kiddo?”

“... Do you think mom was the one that did this to you?”

Luka fell silent, his tail jerking a bit. It was odd; until now, that hadn’t even crossed his mind. But as his stomach churned, he could only conclude that it was true. The drink Vanessa offered him, the sick feeling he got after leaving the restaurant, the horrific transformation. It all added up. Narrowing his eyes, he frowned deeply.

Five years later, Vanessa was just as petty as when Harriet was born.

“You know, I think you’re right.” he finally sighed, “Somehow I don’t think she’d be very willing to reverse it. For now, let’s just... Get somewhere safe.”

A pang of guilt flashed in Harriet’s eyes as she gently placed her hand against her father’s chest. She slowly nodded in reply, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly.

Solemnly and in silence, the pair flew to the horizon, uncertainty following them like a storm cloud.

#doodledrawsthings #ahit 'coffee shop au' #ahit coffee shop au #sheep of the epic story

[kabutoraiger]

ikki voice nearly threw hands with a 70 year old

#grandpa on the attack #watching revice

[yellowocaballero]

He’s Just Not That Into You: Web!Jon and Martin ficlet

Another ficlet written in the same universe as The Convention on Chronographer Lane/The Monster at the End of This Book. As before, you don’t need to have read that to read this. These ficlets are being written as character studies so I get a good handle on the uniqueness of the characters in this AU before I actually write something longer. Which is why they’re...like this. 

Very slight content warning for internalized fatphobia and Jon being interpreted as being a creep again. Reverse content warning for Martin’s tasty pasta. 

EDIT 2/4/2021: With the release of Sucker’s Bet, which this story was a kind of pilot study for, this story is no longer canon. However, you can still consider it a 15 page summary of that entire story. I’m sad I couldn’t keep the ‘join my spider cult’ thing but we all make sacrifices. 

Martin was in the middle of making a delicious pot of pasta when Jonathan Sims crawled in through his kitchen window.

Martin stared at Jonathan Sims, too out of it to even be surprised. Jon halted halfway through his entrance, sitting on the windowsill with one leg swung over it to rest on his floor, one leg on the fire escape above. Martin was on the sixth floor of his flat complex.

“Hullo,” Jon said, as if he was not in his window, “have you reconsidered my offer of -”

Martin threw his spoon at Jon, hitting him squarely on the forehead. Jon cursed, shocked into leaning backwards, and he accidentally topped off the window and onto the fire escape. He landed on the metal grid with a loud crash and a rattle, and the muffled sounds of his cursing echoed through the flat.

After a second to grab a new spoon and turn down the heat on the pot, Martin walked over to the window and wiggled it down again. He looked Jon dead in the eyes as he locked it, before going back to his pasta.

It was good. He should add some pesto and herbs next time.

Martin was in the middle of making a delicious pot of pasta when Jonathan Sims crawled in through his kitchen window. 

Martin stared at Jonathan Sims, too out of it to even be surprised. Jon halted halfway through his entrance, sitting on the windowsill with one leg swung over it to rest on his floor, one leg on the fire escape above. Martin was on the sixth floor of his flat complex. 

“Hullo,” Jon said, as if he was not in his window, “have you reconsidered my offer of -”

Martin threw his spoon at Jon, hitting him squarely on the forehead. Jon cursed, shocked into leaning backwards, and he accidentally topped off the window and onto the fire escape. He landed on the metal grid with a loud crash and a rattle, and the muffled sounds of his cursing echoed through the flat. 

After a second to grab a new spoon and turn down the heat on the pot, Martin walked over to the window and wiggled it down again. He looked Jon dead in the eyes as he locked it, before going back to his pasta. 

It was good. He should add some pesto and herbs next time. 

***

Martin had never really bothered to learn how to cook, but now that he was unemployed he had plenty of time. 

Now that he was unemployed, he had plenty of time for lots of things. He was finally taking up knitting again. Lots of seasons of Jane the Virgin to catch up on. His severance package from the Institute had been pretty good, not to mention the check Rosie had slipped him with a wink that she had worryingly called ‘Hazard Pay’, but this was London and even Martin could only make the money stretch so far. He spent eight hours of his day looking for jobs, touting his five year experience as a librarian and six month experience as an Archival assistant. But there was only so far you could go without a degree, and the market was shit, and really wouldn’t it just be so much easier to list a master’s in library science from some huge, anonymous university…

But Martin had the feeling that line of thought was what had put him on Jon’s radar in the first place. 

***

A week later Martin was halfway through a comforting Gilmore Girls rewatch when he heard a knock on his door. He had been fastidiously avoiding answering knocks on the door ever since Jon had pulled his first Jehovah’s Witness impression, but he had ordered a replacement washing machine part and it was arriving that day. He put his knitting down and got up, peering through the eyehole - hair not nearly long enough to be Jon, great - and opened the door. 

“Hullo,” the man said in a thick Cockney accent, not looking up from his clipboard, “I got a package here for Mr. Blackwood?”

“Yes, that’s me.” Martin held out his hands to take the little screen and sign for the package. After a second of clumsy fumbling, the man passed the package and the screen over, and Martin boredly scribbled his name. “Thanks, mate -”

But the man was gone, and Martin had realized belatedly that the man had slipped past Martin to enter his flat. He easily slid the cap off, letting his tightly curled hair cascade down to his shoulders, and propped his hands on his hips as he spun in a circle, admiring Martin’s extraordinarily boring and cramped flat. 

“Really love what you’ve done with the place!” Jonathan Sims said loudly. “Your sense of interior design is really impeccable, Martin, truly. A man’s home is his castle! Oh, is that vintage chintz? So cute.”

“Get out of my house.”

“Look at this ceramic kitten!” Jon was already in front of his mantle, carefully scrutinizing his little row of ceramic figures. They were fifty pence at the charity shops and Martin found them precious and charming, okay? “Your place has so much personality. My flat has personality too, but I’m afraid that personality just screams a propensity towards arson, so it’s much less impressive. How old is that couch, from the 70s? Very grandmother. Is it inherited?”

Yes. “No,” Martin said, resisting the urge to throttle the man as he dumped his washing machine part on the end table, “and please get out of my flat. I’ve said explicitly I don’t want you where I live -”

“Really, Martin, I’m hardly a vampire,” Jon said, having the gall to look offended as he cradled a little meowing ceramic kitten in his hand. “If I needed permission to enter dwellings I’d never go anywhere.” He paused a beat, something seeming to occur to him. “But I get a lot of permission from many different people of a variety of genders to enter their homes for sex, which I am very good at.” He paused again. “I really am very thirsty. I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a spot of tea…?”

Because Martin was British, he made the tea. But he resented every second of it. 

Jon hadn’t started stalking him immediately after he and his weirdo friends had murdered Martin’s boss, but it was pretty close. He had probably thought a week was enough time to emotionally recover from the ordeal of finding out that your boss’ boss was an immortal apocalypse cultist or whatever and that your boss was actually just a plant from a different and somehow creepier apocalypse cult inserted into your workplace to assassinate his boss. He had probably thought that a week was enough time to emotionally recover from the fact that Jonathan Sims - prickly, rude, pretentious Head Archivist with a heart of gold - was an elaborate fabrication, and that the man whom Martin had been falling for had never truly existed at all. 

A week had not been enough time. 

He didn’t even know Jon’s real name. 

“So what is your real name, anyway?” They were, unfortunately, sitting at Martin’s rinky-dink kitchen table, complete with little pock-marked burn scars in the wood and a wobbly leg. Martin had a magazine rolled up and jammed under the leg, which he was uncomfortably aware of as Jon lounged in his hard little wooden chair as if it was a thousand dollar gaming chair. The fake UPS uniform helped make him look like something other than a movie star, but it was hard to disguise the sharp and haughty features and the cold grey eyes. He had kept the ceramic cat, placing it in front of him with its little plainative face turned towards Martin. 

“What makes you think it’s not Jonathan Sims?” Jon asked archly, sipping at his PG Tips out of a chipped black mug. He made a faint face. “Sorry, is there cream for this? I hate black tea.”

“You always take your tea black,” Martin said automatically. Jon stared at him until he got it. “Of course. Right.” 

By the time he got back to the table with the sugar and cream Jon was going through his mail, with absolutely no shame whatsoever. “Bill, bill, overdue bill. You’re hurting for money, aren’t you? You know, I might know someone who’s hiring -”

“If you’re about to say a giant spider that’s going to lay eggs in my stomach and then burst out of my skin and transform me into a spider person, I have to pass.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Jon blatantly lied. “I just don’t think you’re hearing me out. Has anybody ever told you that you’re very unwilling to listen to new ideas?”

“When the new idea is joining a spider cult, then yes. Actually, no, because nobody’s ever asked me that before I met you.”

Jon didn’t seem to pick up on Martin’s extraordinarily pained expression, or maybe he just didn’t care. He leaned in instead, easily dropping a grotesque amount of sugar cubes into his tea. “Just consider it. Let the idea percolate in your mind. There’s a lot of benefits. No more worrying about money. No more putting in all that work to manipulate people. It’d be as easy as breathing for you. Anybody you want to like you likes you, and anybody you hate has their life ruined in days.” Something glinted with light in Jon’s grey eyes, like a spotlight shining off a raincloud. “Anybody you want to fall in love with you does so instantly. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“All for the low, low price of selling my soul to a giant spider god,” Martin said sarcastically. Jon nodded fastidiously, as if it really was a low price. “Seriously, Jon? I have no interest in any of this. I don’t even know why you’ve singled me out to stalk. I don’t - I don’t like manipulating people, it’s not some kind of hobby -”

“Liar. You love manipulating people.” Jon sipped his tea, as if bored. “Honestly, Martin, we’re all friends here. I won’t judge. You don’t need to virtue signal. We both love manipulating people, getting what we want, putting on personas. We like to control how people see us, no matter what that perception is. You believe that ends justify the means, I believe that good means result in good ends. We’ve very similar.” Something strange entered Jon’s expression, almost entirely hidden by the tea, and for the first time Martin wondered if this was an expression Jon hadn’t meant for him to see. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who is exactly like me. We should work together. You’re so well suited for the Mother. You’d be a treasured son. Valued, celebrated, loved. Everything you always wanted, you can have.”

Silence stretched between them. Martin let Jon think that he was thinking it over, staring into his own cup of Earl Grey and letting the slowly wafting steam fog up his glasses. Jon sipped his tea again, still posed casually yet attractively. In a brief yet stupid spurt of nostalgia Martin found himself missing the man he thought Jonathan Sims had been. 

Stupid. Loving Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist, had been as real as crushing on a love interest in a dating sim. Instead, Martin leaned in, and Jon leaned in to match him. Martin locked eyes with him, as sincerely as he possibly could. No lies, no artifice. “Stop projecting your insecurity about your own bad decisions on me,” Martin enunciated clearly, and Jon’s eyes widened in shock. “and get out of my house.”

He did, eventually. Maybe that was one of a million surprising things about Jonathan Sims, or whatever his real name was: Martin could always get him to do what he wanted eventually. 

***

Martin did not spend time thinking about Jonathan Sims, mostly because he had the feeling that this was what Jonathan Sims wanted. 

Instead, he frantically piled more and more projects and work into his free time. Ever since he was seventeen, Martin had always held down at least three jobs. His life was a never-ending rotation of a six am to three pm shift at Papa John’s, then a three pm to ten pm shift at Panera, and then stumbling home to stuff a ready meal in the microwave before doing it all over again only to work his third weekend job on the weekends. It had gotten to the point where he had paid the unemployed downstairs neighbor living on disability cheques to feed and occasionally take care of Mum because he hadn’t had time to do it himself. Martin could have have just dropped a job and scraped by on two so he could take care of Mum himself, but - well, it wasn’t hurting anybody. His neighbor had needed the cheques, right?

In comparison, the Institute had been an absolute dream. Work from nine to five, every day, then come home and crash. There had been benefits, insurance. It probably said something that even after discovering that both of his bosses had been cultists to Lovecraftian horrors who wanted to end the world or whatever, it was still the best job he ever had. He even missed it, sometimes - missed listening to Sasha and Tim joke around, missed the repetitive work, missed harmlessly and shallowly crushing on his persnickety boss who sometimes flashed a smile at him that made his heart melt. 

Fucker had known exactly what he was doing. 

That was what got Martin, even now. What had been the point? Jon had been there to infiltrate Elias’ plans for a Head Archivist, or so Sasha had confusingly explained after the fact. The skeptic, pissy act was to show himself off as an ideal candidate: willfully ignorant, psychologically vulnerable, and utterly isolated from everyone. What was the point of...of...seducing Martin?

The thought made Martin want to die. Imagine living a life where you woke up in the morning and thought to yourself, ‘Today I’m going to seduce the ugly, fat, high school dropout in my extensive long con to save/destroy the world’. It was like he was a movie star in a heist film or something, only cruel and pointless. 

Was it just to make fun of him? Martin had thought it was. But as he...interacted with Jon more and more, he got the sense that his fascination with Martin was genuine. He genuinely saw something of himself in Martin. 

Unless that was a lie too, and he just needed something from Martin. Unless Jon knew that Martin knew that he was conning him, and that there was another reason -

Martin had the terrible sense that Jon lived his life like this, always guessing and second guessing and triple guessing. It sounded...very tiring. 

He didn’t know how to explain any of this to Tim. They got together every so often for drinks - actually, Tim texted him asking to hang out, playing it all cool as if he went out and got drinks with tons of buddies all the time but was doing Martin a favor. Martin had the sense that he was hiding a deep and pervasive loneliness, but these days whenever Martin went down too deep a spiral of teasing out motivations he felt like Jon, so he quickly cut it out. 

“What’s there to get?” Tim said, throwing back his pint. “He’s an asshole who pretended to be our friend for months, and he turned out to be a total creep who leads a spider cult. You know, as happens sometimes!”

Sometimes Martin got the sense that Tim was a little bitter about what happened at the Archives. He didn’t really have a good thread on why yet, but he had the sense it was because Tim had ‘adopted’ Jon as his friend very intensely and that made him react badly to the perceived betrayal - no! No psychoanalyzing! Not today! 

“It do be like that sometimes,” Martin said wisely, peeling away the label at his shitty beer. The bar was crowded, noisy, and dim, and it was hard to hear Tim over the noise. “I don’t know, though. If that was all there was to it, he wouldn’t be showing up at my house all the time…”

“Wait, what?”

Martin explained in short order, trying not to feel embarrassed about it. Tim seemed to grow increasingly furious, and Martin found himself trailing off uncertainly near the end. 

“He’s doing the same thing to Sasha,” Tim said lowly. “Fucking freak.”

“Wait, what? He’s been bothering Sasha?” Jesus, that really was creepy. Come to think of it, Martin hadn’t seen Sasha around lately - she used to come get drinks with them right after they all got fired, but the last three invites she had begged off and said that she was ‘dealing with a lot right now’ and that she was ‘really swamped’. Martin was pretty sure that she was also unemployed, so he didn’t really know what she was swamped with, but it wasn’t any of his business. Maybe she was depressed. “Like, is he also trying to recruit her into the spider cult, or…?”

Weirdly, Martin felt a weird pang of disappointment at that. He had thought that what he and Jon had was special. 

Ha ha. As if. 

“I don’t know!” Tim cried, frustrated. He was gripping his pint glass tightly, as if he wished he was wrapping his fingers around Jon’s very slim and attractive neck instead. “First he keeps bothering Sasha, and now he keeps breaking into your house and flirting with you -”

“What!” Martin squeaked. “He’s not -”

“He’s a predator,” Tim said finally, as if he was a judge delivering a verdict. “Fucking freak. Martin, next time he drops by, I want you to call me immediately. I’ll kick his ass for you.”

“I’m a grown man, I can kick his ass by myself,” Martin said lamely, fully aware that he had never kicked an ass in his life and never would. 

“Don’t let that bully intimidate you,” Tim lectured, like the overbearing big brother Martin had always kind of secretly wanted. “He’s just a grifter, spider cult or not. Seriously, Martin, next time he bothers you call me. I have more than a few things I want to say to the bastard.”

It was heartwarming, almost. “You haven’t seen him since he killed Elias, right?”

Tim looked away, scowling. “Nope. Dunno why, if he’s hassling you two. I’m the only one with some serious questions I need to ask him, and he hasn’t even - whatever.” He looked back at Martin, forcing a great big smile. “Really, if he wants a hottie, why isn’t he knocking on my door, right? Like, come on, I’m single and ready to -”

“How’s the job hunt going, Tim!”

“I’m trying to get back into publishing, what do you think! Kill me!”

Martin liked Tim. If you had asked him four months ago if they were really friends, he would have smiled and deflected, because he was pretty sure that Tim was just that friendly to everybody. Martin always felt insecure with friendly and nice people, because he never knew if they were being friendly to him because they liked him and considered him a friend, or if they were just like that with everyone. 

But they still got drinks when they didn’t have to, and the expression of tight and barely controlled rage that flashed through his face when he thought that Sasha and Martin were in danger from Jon was real. Maybe they really were friends. 

Maybe there was something deeply buried and long since repressed in Tim that was destroying him slowly from the inside. Maybe Martin and Sasha had that too, that rot: the way Sasha would carelessly invade privacy to hack inside people’s private files without even thinking about it, the way that Martin would almost instinctively balance impression management with playing down to expectations with always dissecting people in a ruthless search for a weak point without even thinking about it. 

Maybe they were all bad people, every one of them. It felt sometimes as if Martin had a corrupt and diseased heart, that infected parts of his body with a sick necrosis. He hurt people when he didn’t want to; he said things he didn’t mean. There was something rotten and evil in Martin, and sometimes it felt as if he couldn’t help but pass it along from person to person.

Man hands on misery to man, Phillip Larkin said, it deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, and don’t have any kids yourself. 

Well, Martin had the second part down. He was still working on the first. 

***

But Martin was right to worry, because when he woke up at seven the next morning to shamble into his living room, he flipped the light switch to see Jonathan Sims sitting on his grandma couch flipping through his meager collection of books. 

“You don’t read very much, do you?” Jon said.

“How did you get into my house.”

“Told the landlord I was the exterminator and needed to get in to spray for bugs.” Jon tossed the book on the battered coffee table - 1984 - and reclined on the sofa. “You really do have quite a bit of spiders, though. Want me to take care of that? Do you want more spiders? I can get you as many spiders as you like.”

The way he sat was purposeful, the way one of his black boots with a low heel was propped on the coffee table, the way his dark and closely cut trousers were slightly splayed, his tight black turtleneck highlighting his figure was slightly hidden by a fine white silk jacket. The small part of Martin’s mind that used to work at a dry-cleaners inanely wondered how difficult that jacket was to keep clean. Most of Martin’s mind was occupied realizing that Tim was right, and that Jon was flirting with him. 

“What do I have to say to get you to leave my house,” Martin said, instead of asking why, why, why, why. He knew why - spider cult purposes - but why -

“Lots of poetry collections, though,” Jon said, and Martin knew that he had caught him looking. He had a little half-smile: half encouraging, half shy. “You have great taste. I’m a Yeats fan too.”

Sure. “Name one Yeats poem.”

“The Stolen Child,” Jon said instantly.

Martin narrowed his eyes. “What do you like about it?”

Jon was silent. 

“Thought so.” Martin pointed at his door. “Out.”

There it was, a brief explosion, so quick that Martin might have thought he imagined it: grinding teeth, sloping eyebrows, a scowl. A flash of irritation: here one second, gone the next. “I like your poetry, though,” Jon attacked, a different angle. “Your imagery is very vivid.”

What the fuck. “You went through my diary?” Martin screeched. 

“Yes?” Jon looked slightly flummoxed. “I was doing research. People like it when you display interest in their hobbies.”

“I am making coffee,” Martin said, voice strangled, “and I am making breakfast. And if you refuse to leave, you are not saying a single word until I’ve had caffeine.”

And then Martin refused to acknowledge Jon any more. Martin quickly realized that Jon hated this very much, used to being the center of attention wherever he was, and it was an extremely effective method of making him throw himself into a kitchen chair and sulk as the coffee pot sputtered out a cup. Martin focused himself on heating up the pan and cracking a few eggs into a bowl, whisking it absentmindedly as he clenched his mobile. 

He should call Tim. He had never known Jon to get violent, but that didn’t mean anything. The guy was...he was…

He glanced back at Jon, who had his arms crossed and was frowning down at the stained wood of the kitchen table. He didn’t seem to know Martin was looking, and it occurred to Martin for the first time that this might be the authentic Jon: tired and frustrated and uncertain what he was doing wrong. 

The eggs sizzled on the frying pan, and Martin pushed them around with a spatula. “What do you like on your eggs?”

Jon looked up, surprised, before rearranging his expression into something cool and distant. “Surprise me.”

Martin served them cheesy with herbs, just for that. When Jon took a bite he looked surprised, as if he had been expecting something spiteful and received only something good in exchange. 

When he put a cup of Early Grey in front of him, with sugar congealing on the bottom and rosy brown from the cream, he looked surprised again too.

“You’re excellent at reading people,” Jon said, carefully directly after Martin had a sip of his coffee. “Mother would -”

“Do you want to make a bargain?” Martin asked. 

That caught Jon’s attention. He smiled winningly, leaning in, hair carefully arranged to fall over one shoulder in a painfully attractive way. “I could be convinced.”

“If you knock on my door at a reasonable hour, then I will let you in and we can talk or whatever. I’ll make us tea. I don’t care.”

Jon’s grin only widened, and when Martin felt a foot brush his leg he had to fight the urge to jump a foot in the air. “What’ll I do in exchange?”

“You let up on the sales pitch,” Martin said severely, and physically moved his chair further away from Jon. “And you stop lying to me. And for christ’s sake, stop pretending you’re into me.”

 Jon blinked, expression falling in shock. 

He scrambled to paste something back on, but it was as if he couldn’t decide. Martin saw him half-cycle through different expressions, different appearances: abashed, eager, flirtatious. It was as if he was frantically guessing which Jon would work best to convince Martin to do what he wanted, but he just couldn’t decide. 

Finally, he weakly asked, “What makes you think I’m not into you?”

Martin couldn’t help it: he scoffed bitterly. “Guess someone like you was never asked out as a joke in secondary. Nobody would honestly find me attractive. Everything you do is calculated, Jon, and I’m not vain enough to think the flirting is an exception. It’s obvious.”

“I’m not obvious,” Jon said, physically fighting to keep his expression from twisting into anger. It was...obvious. He eventually forced his expression into something wide-eyed and sincere, reaching out a hand to place on Martin’s arm. It was warm, but it settled oddly on Martin’s skin. Something about it didn’t feel like a human arm. “That’s just your low-self esteem talking, love. When I look at you, I see -”

“A sucker?”

Jon opened his mouth, then closed his. His hand was still on Martin’s arm. Martin didn’t know why he hadn’t shaken it off. “I see someone very kind,” Jon said, almost lamely. “I like that in a man.”

“Yeah, sure.” Martin shook his hand off - disgusted with Jon, disgusted with himself. Someone like Jon - attractive, confident, smooth - could never understand how it felt. He didn’t know why he expected him to. “I don’t know why you aren’t leaving me or Sasha alone, or why you’re trying to recruit us both into your spider cult -”

“I’m trying to recruit Sasha into my vigilante superhero team, actually.”

“Whatever. Point is, if I can’t get rid of you, I don’t want our conversations to be exhausting. These...games you’re always playing,” Martin waved his hand demonstratively as he chugged coffee with the other, “are tiring. Maybe - maybe you and I are similar, Jon. But the difference between us is that I find these games tiring. I don’t like doing it. I - what I want is a relationship where there’s no games. Where I can just be me and the other person can just be them. Don’t you want that too?”

Jon stared at him, eyes wide, almost shocked, almost hesitant, almost hopeful. 

Finally, he said, “I only trust three people.”

“I’m not asking you to trust me,” Martin, who trusted nobody, said exasperatedly. What did it say, that the leader of the spider cult trusted more people than Martin did? “I’m just asking you not to lie to me.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Jon said, before pausing a beat. “I’d trust you if you joined my spider cult.”

“You’re shit out of luck, then. And you’re not going to convince me.” Martin took another sip of his coffee, hiding his trembling hands. “Because you can’t lie to me, Jon. Face it: I’m almost as good as you are.” He smiled wryly. “As good as someone can get without supernatural powers, anyway.”

Jon stared at him, just stared, and Martin let the moment linger in silence as he cut into his eggs. Finally, he said, “You’ll tolerate my presence if I agree to drop the act.”

“Yep.”

“I’m not sure how to drop the act,” Jon admitted, somewhat embarrassed, as if he was admitting to not knowing how to tie his shoes.

Martin rolled his eyes. “Do your best. You must have been normal at one point.”

“When I was normal,” Jon said, “nobody tolerated me at all.”

The shocking honesty made Martin almost gag on his coffee. Jon’s eyes widened again, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just said, as if he had never meant to say it. As if nobody had ever heard it at all. 

“Now that we’re actually getting somewhere,” Martin said, tactfully not touching that barrel of worms - er, spiders - with a two meter pole. “Can you please tell me your real name? Unless it was, like, wiped from your mind by your spider mom? Is this like one of those cult things were they rename you for indoctrination purposes?” Something terrible occurred to him. “Is every guy in your cult named John and every woman named Annabelle? It was just a fake name you gave to Elias, right? Right?”

Jon - whoever he was - stared at Martin, completely and utterly dumbfounded. 

Then he laughed, long and hard, hoarse and wheezing and breathy, and Martin knew that this, at least, was real. 

***

Martin: I think I’ve taken care of the Jon thing

Martin: Probably

Martin: The guy’s kinda hopeless

Tim: ya sash said that hes cool

Tim: apparently shes a vigilante now? or smth? Idk

Martin: Yeah that seems about right

Martin: At least she’s living her best life?

Tim: ya good for her honestly

Tim: ….so does Spider-Man KNOW how to use all eight of those arms ifyaknowwhatimean

Martin: WE! ARE! JUST! FRIENDS!

***

“ - so then after my father passed tragically of brain cancer, I was raised by my emotionally distant and disaffected Gran. I think she’s the one who taught me that if I ever want anything in life, I have to secure it for myself. I’ve been very independent ever since I was a child, and although my social skills have always been naturally lacking I’ve worked to compensate for that by studying the art of social interaction. I guess you could call it somewhat of a special interest of mine, I like to sit in coffeeshops with my sister Annabelle and study passerby -”

“Uh huh.”

“Did you know forty percent of Britons own pets? I think it reveals interesting things about the human psychology. The domestication of dogs has always been fascinating, of course. Did you know that all dogs are descended directly from the grey wolf? There were other wolf species at the time, but they’ve long since gone extinct.”

“Wow.”

“I know! The evolution of what we today determine as dog breeds were only created in the Victorian era. I’m sure Jonah would have had some thoughts on that, if I hadn’t fed him to my mother. Actually, few people know this, but our modern conceptualization of the wolf pack hierarchy has been thoroughly debunked. Alphas and omegas only exist in captive populations. Tell that to the werewolves, huh! Actually, I organize the weekly Avatar poker games - you can come if you’re interested, great way to make some money - and I actually did tell that to the werewolves, and they were not very happy with me -”

“Jon? I can’t hear the movie.”

“Right, right.” Jon passed Martin the popcorn. “So what’s this one about?”

Martin scooped up a handful of the popcorn without shame, feeding it in a steady stream into his mouth. “About a guy who gets turned into a fly.”

“That’s fun,” Jon said warmly. “I turned a guy into a fly once. He got stuck in a spider-web immediately and everything, it was quite entertaining.” At Martin’s horrified look, he quickly followed it up with, “Gerry had found out that he was illegally evicting tenants who were undergoing cancer treatment, asking for rent before it was due and physically intimidating the tenants and everything. He also stole one thousand dollars worth of goods from Whole Foods and everything, which is quite funny if you think about it -”

“How does someone steal a thousand dollars with of stuff from Whole Foods? It’s a grocery store.”

“I know, right!” Jon threw up his hands, accidentally sending some pieces of popcorn flying. “The rich are the true parasites, Martin! I’m speaking as an insect person!”

“Word.” 

Martin ate more popcorn, and noticed Jon carefully brush his crossed legs against Martin’s knee. 

Well, he was trying. He’d stop pretending to like Martin eventually. 

They’d get there. ;

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfic #tma fanfic #web!jon #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #ME? WRITING JONMARTIN? ITS LESS LIKELY THAN YOUD THINK #tim stoker #feat. tim's protective streak martin's low self-esteem and jon's theater special interest #ftr jon is sex-repulsed and never had any intention of actually going there with martin he just knew martin was into him #offscreen jon was throwing chairs like 'WHY CANT I SEDUCE THIS MAN WHO I SIN LOVE WITH ME' #gerry playing video games: because you actually like him back and you can't handle feelings that are genuinely your own #jon: 'i think ill just flirt harder actually'

[backburnerdio]

Fictober – Day 4

Original Fiction: Time Borrowed Prompt #31: Take Me With You Word Count: 1999 Words Warnings: Medical Emergency, Seizure, Blood Rated: Teen

The radio chirped:

“521, We have a 10-48. Soon to be ex, slashed her tires and has been making threatening comments to her. She’s concerned he might return.”

“10-4 give us a 20…”

Ryker shifted in the driver’s seat, rolling his neck with a sigh. Bouts of prolonged silence seemed customary of him, different from some of the others like Lora, Valetta, or Garnet. Beau was aware he was being watched, Ryker staring at him a long moment before he ever spoke.

“How are things?”

Beau finished clocking a truck that rounded the curve. 44 mph. Underspeeding. He turned his focus to Ryker, minimizing his ranging process, scanning the man’s face instead. It was an attempt at conversation, not an interrogation.

“I’m running at optimal levels. I have no issue with any processes, mechanically or operationally.”

“I mean at the station,” Ryker clarified.

Beau hesitated, checking the network for the integrity of the station at that moment. “Like, with everyone else. Are they treating you alright...? Minus Garnet. He’s, well, an outlier.”

“Everyone treats me perfectly fine, sir. Each has their own opinion and reasoning for their behavior. I believe it’s called a personality.”

Ryker lifted his radar gun, checking another car. Their speed dropped dramatically when they spotted the patrol, dropping from 46 to 38. “Being an asshole shouldn’t be a personality, but I guess you’re right. That’s Garnet.”

“Officer Garnet has an excellent record. I’ve read it myself. He’s been with the department just after leaving grade school. I trust he has reasons for his actions.” Beau noticed the next vehicle, a white van, speeding around the curve.

“Here we go. What’s he running? Sixty? Sixty-five?” Ryker shifted them into drive.

“I’m reading sixty-five point two. Extremely accurate, sir.” They pulled onto the road, sirens wailing.

“Comes with experience. Can you log that with the tag number when we get up to it?”

“I already have the plates. The owner is Al Doomer, forty-two years old, married to Kathy Doomer; accountant. Insurance and registration are up to date. He has one infraction from five years ago for a rolling stop at a stop sign. His last speeding ticket was… twenty years ago.”

Ryker glanced over at him, frowning. “You found all of that?”

“I am linked to the station’s network, as well as SoulLink’s global network. Nearly all logged information is at my disposal.”

“Maybe Mr. Doomer is having a rough day, or someone has decided to take his van for a spin. Would you like to take this one?” They slowed pulling over behind the van that quickly drew onto the shoulder.

“Yes, sir.” Beau unfastened his seatbelt, opening the door.

“Whoa, wait Bee.” Ryker threw off his seatbelt kicking his door open. The driver leapt out of the van, hands held up and waving. The passenger door was thrown wide, Beau reaching for the weapon on his belt as Ryker got out.

“Help!” The driver called, “My son needs help!”

“Slow down,” Ryker ordered and Beau withdrew from his belt. “Sir, stay where you are. What’s the problem?”

“Our son!” The wife was already sobbing as she came around the van, clinging to a bundle in her arms. “He won’t open his eyes. He’s bleeding and won’t open his eyes!” She rushed Beau. Flushed, heart racing, fighting for air. There was a body in her arms. Three feet, two inches. Breathing. She nearly knocked into him, pressing close to pass the bundle to him. He cradled his arms to take the boy, catching a glimpse of his face, peaceful except for the blood spilling from his nose.

> 36 pounds > 70 beats per minute –slow for a child his age > low brain function > 102.3°F body temperature

“Seizure.” Beau announced, “He needs emergency care, immediately.”

“Get in the car, we’ll take him to the hospital.” Ryker was already climbing in, Beau carefully backing to sit in his seat.

“Take me with you.” The mother sobbed, “Please take me with my baby!”

“Get in.” Ryker unlocked the door, Beau cradling the bundle as she clambered into the back. “You have him?”

“Yes sir.” Beau couldn’t take his eyes away from the child. Scrunched in the blanket, their eyes remained closed, no rapid eye movement, breathing slow and calm.

“Ma’am, please put on your seatbelt,” Ryker warned, pulling them off onto the road. Even the wail of the sirens didn’t seem to startle the child.

“Are you a paramedic?” The woman called through the parting window. “Can you help him?”

“I’m not equipped for the treatment of seizures. But I am programmed for first aid.” Beau continued to stare at the child, removing the blanket from the top of their head to prevent any constriction. He slid it over beside the door, holding the limp boy in the crook of his arm. Beau was careful of his little head, propping it to the side to reduce the risk of blocking his airway.

Drawing in air, Beau processed and cooled it to sixty degrees, exhaling gently across the boy’s face. He repeated the process, hand on the back of the boy’s head monitoring his body temperature. It was declining, slowly.

Muscles in his face twitched, Beau picking up the spike in brain function. Another seizure.

“Oh my god, not again!” His mother wailed. “You have to help him! Please! Help him!”

5 SECONDS . . . 10 SECONDS . . .

“Sixteen seconds,” Beau announced, “Once we arrive at the hospital, alert the paramedics his last seizure was sixteen seconds. His core body temperature is lowering but he is still running a fever.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“We’re almost there.” Ryker interrupted, speaking calmly to combat her panic. “We’ll get him to the hospital and he’ll get the help he needs. Ma’am, look at me.”

Beau stared at the boy. His curly brown hair, soft face, peaceful. Beau focused on his heart rate and rhythm of breathing. He had never seen a child at this range. They were smaller than he expected, even from seeing them from afar. With mankind’s history, it was a miracle on its own that they survived through this phase.

Define Mother . . . Adjective: to bring up young with care and affection

“Please? Please tell me he’s going to be okay?” She whimpered, clinging to the wire window when Beau turned to look at her. Her face was wet with tears, makeup running, eyes and nose red from crying. Her brain activity was off the chart.

“He’s going to be okay.” Beau replicated the calm smile Lora always used. The mother drew in a shaking breath, hiccuping before giving a nod.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” She attempted a smile, withering as more tears streamed from her eyes.

“We’re here,” Ryker announced, pulling into the overhang at the ER. He leapt out as Beau rearranged the boy to safely step out. Opening the door for the mother, Ryker helped her to her feet, spotting as Beau surrendered her son back to her.

“Thank you,” she whimpered again, hurrying for the entrance as an EMT came out to meet her. Beau watched until they disappeared inside, meeting a nurse. And continued to stare even after everyone was gone.

Ryker planted a hand on his shoulder, patting. “Good job, Beau. You did great. Why don’t we break for lunch?”

They returned to the car, slowly making their way through the parking lot. Ryker returned to his silence, sirens off, maneuvering through traffic.

“I reported the incident, for records. Although, I have no cause to believe she harmed that child.” Beau announced, ignoring a number of the processes running in his HUD. After such an incident, he found he was more inclined to the quiet of the cab.

“No, I don’t think she did either.”

“I noted such on the report.”

“It happens to kids sometimes. It takes time for their little bodies to get used to living in this world. It’s not easy. Germs and viruses, they’re constantly fighting things off.” Ryker shrugged.

“She left her spouse to come with us. Why?”

“Well, once you have a kid of your own, it’s not that they’re more important than your significant other, but that you know the little one needs more help. Her husband has a vehicle. He’s a fully functioning adult. He can take care of himself much like he does every day when he goes to work. But the kid? He can’t drive, and he’s sick. Her priority shifts to taking care and protecting him.”

“Mothering.”

“That’s right. It’s all part of raising a kid.”

“Do you have children, sir?” Beau turned to him.

“I have nieces and nephews. No kids.”

“I see. Do you mother your nieces and nephews?”

“I, uh, I babysit sometimes. I wouldn’t say I do nearly as much as their mom and dad, but, I guess? A little bit?”

“You’re a mother too, Captain. You have nieces and nephews. And you mothered Ives.”

“Don’t let him catch you saying that.” Ryker chuckled. “No, Ives pretty much looked after himself. He just needed some… suggestions. The rest he figured out himself.” Beau took careful note of the way Ryker’s expression changed when he discussed Ives. It was far less tense, looking away more often either in fondness or embarrassment. Ryker mentioned similarities between Ives and Beau, when they had first arrived, how they worked, all while they stopped to grab a quickly prepared meal in a drive-thru.

“We come from a similar line, my operating system is based on the GW series.” Beau reminded him.

“Well, yeah, but still –do you want or need anything? Water?”

“I do not ingest anything, Captain.”

“No, I know. I just– I saw that air conditioner thing you pulled. Do you have a radiator?”

“A cooling system, yes. But I do not require ingesting fluids. But if you feel the need, I could sample a coffee.”

“No, coffee isn't good for A.I.s.”

“Then I don’t require anything.”

“Okay, if you say so.” He received his order, parking to keep out of the way. Beau watched the traffic on the road nearby, scrolling through a number of windows on his HUD. Playback from the child. Reading and re-reading his vitals. Searching for a different possible course of action. “Why so quiet?”

“You are occupied with food, and it is considered rude to speak while chewing. I did not want to pressure you into maintaining conversation while you ate your… hamburger.”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Hamburger?”

“You paused. Don’t tell me you do that thing where you tell me what to eat.”

“I am not authorized to make nutrition-based recommendations outside from alcohol consumption and dangerous materials. If you would like, I can advise you not to ingest any part of this vehicle.”

Ryker laughed, “Okay, great. But, back to what I was saying. You've been quiet since we left the hospital.” Beau went back to watching traffic, attempting to organize the probable hypotheticals into words.

“Will the child be okay?” His question made Ryker pause, lowering his meal to stare.

“That’s hard to say. Like you said, we aren’t really equipped for that sort of thing. That’s all in the nurses’ hands now. I know it’s not like a light switch or a tab that you can just close on your browser, but try not to think about it. You think about it too much, and it’ll smother you.”

“...Captain, what if we didn’t do enough?”

“Well, we did our best. Sometimes that isn’t enough. But, you just have to look at things from a big picture, believe that in the big scheme of things sometimes it’s okay for your best not to be good enough. What matters is you did all you could at that moment.” Another hand on his shoulder. “You did your best. It doesn’t have to be successful all the time.”

Beau nodded.

“Here, ever tried a french fry?”

“No, thank you, Captain. The smell is enough.”

#amwriting #my writing #writeblr #fictober21 #science fiction #writeblr community #tw seizure #tw blood #wip: TB

[nakedmossy]

Depth Over Distance - Part One [Rudy x Reader]

[A/N: I haven’t found a hometown Rudy fic yet soooo I wrote one. I have no idea where this story is going to go and I’m honestly finding it hard to get out of writing JJ and get into writing Rudy, but here we go anyways. I wanted to write something where the reader and Rudy were hometown friends before he moved to LA, and to explore the idea of how that would change/what it would look like when he comes back. Get ready for a S L O W. B U R N. my dudes. Peace and love, Mossy x]

The sky was grey and the air was wet - it had been raining for 4 days straight. You sat in your car with the heat cranked, your window down slightly so that the humidity didn’t fog up your mirrors. Living on the Alaskan coast was beautiful most of the time but horrible some of the time, especially when you had to waste gas just keeping warm and dry at 6pm in the beginning of ‘Summer’. 

You had never lived anywhere else aside from the summer you spent in Vancouver with your cousin when you were 19. Now, at 23, you were working full time at the local bookshop that was an 8 minute drive from your house in the winter and a 20 minute walk/skate in the summer. Your car was parked street side, waiting for your friend Lizzy to finish her shift at the cafe. The smell of the rain and the Ben Howard song on the radio made you nostalgic about the times you and your friends from high school had spent hours skating down these streets, beers in your backpacks, no helmets, dirty shoes and clothes, no pressure, no responsibilities, no cell service...no worries. 

Since graduation a lot of your friends had moved out of town, either to Anchorage or down to Washington, or further south. Your best friend Lizzy had stayed close to home, helping run her families business and working part time at the cafe. You had stayed local too...your dad owned a fishing guide business and your mom was an admin assistant for the MD in town, but neither made enough to cover all the medical bills you had racked up over the last few years. You figured once the debt was paid off you might leave...but you had no idea where you would go. 

You missed all of your friends, but you missed the boys the most, aside from Lizzy you didn't have a lot of female friends, and your boys had been like brothers to you. You spoke to most of them every few weeks on FaceTime, except Rudy. He had gone to LA for awhile and had kept in touch loosely, but after the first few months he started to drift. 

You felt the loss the hardest for Rudy. He had been your closest friend the longest, you had spent nearly every day of every summer together since you were 9, and every school year you worked the same part time job at the seafood restaurant on the water. Now, the last you heard, he was coming back for the summer to ‘reconnect’. You had low expectations and tried not to let yourself get excited, but truthfully, you wanted him to spend some time at home and be around his own kind again - he had always been a homebody and you were worried that being gone for 4 years would go to his head or change him.

Lizzy tapped on the glass, causing you to blink out of your reverie and smile at her. You rolled the window down and let her reach in and open the door from the inside (the handle had been broken since high school). She threw her backpack and skateboard in the back seat, climbing in and closing her door.

“Ugh.” She grunted as her teeth chattered and she rubbed her bare legs. 

“You know its only May, you shouldn’t even be wearing shorts yet. The snow just melted.”

Lizzy glared at you playfully and put her hand out to do your handshake. You did it, then put the car in drive and started slowly down the street, windshield wipers moving rhythmically.

“How was the shift?” You asked as you checked your mirrors and wiped some humidity off the rear view. 

“Same old” Lizzy leaned back in her seat and pulled the visor mirror down to fix her hair. “That old man Collins from the cannery keeps coming in and harassing me.”

“Jack? The one with the eye patch?” 

Lizzy nodded dramatically as she held the bobby pins in her mouth and started to twist her straight black hair off her face. 

“That guy-“ She finished placing the final pin and slammed the visor closed “-Is an absolute creep.”

You snorted a sarcastic laugh and rolled your eyes.

“He’s like...70. And widowed. Don’t be rude.”

“I’m not being rude. Im just...asserting my boundaries.”

“You literally have a 3 foot counter between you at minimum, at all times.” You looked over at her and raised your eyebrows.

“Whatever. All I’m saying is we need hotter men in this town. Like...soon.”

You nodded in agreement and felt your eyes wander all over the road, remembering the time you and Rudy had taken your longboards down it after a torrential downpour and you had crashed and gotten such bad road burn that he had to call his dad to come pick you both up because you couldn’t walk.

“Hey, Y/N, are you listening?” Lizzy cut back in, staring at you.

“No, what?”

“I said, speaking of hot guys, I heard Rudy is coming back for a few months.”

You pinched your face and looked at her then at the road, then back at her.

“Rudy is not hot. Rudy is....Rudy. What are you talking about?”

Lizzy looked at you disbelieving and closed her mouth, trying not to smile.

“What!” You repeated, smacking her arm.

“Hey!” She laughed, then shook her head and looked out the window. “Whatever you say man, I just think....” She grabbed her water bottle and began to screw off the lid “I just think...he’s not gonna be the same Rudy that left 4 years ago. He’s like...a movie star now.”

You couldn’t even begin to touch that one. You knew what she was doing...she was always harping on you about going on dates or taking trips with her to the mainland to hook up with the pilots during their layovers. You never went, and always insisted that you were just fine and were not interested. She never listened. Part of that was true...you were fine, and usually not interested. But sometimes, when the water was calm and the sunset was colourful and the fish were jumping and your beer was cold...you wished you had someone to share it with.

“I’m going up to Skagway this weekend with my dad” You said, changing subjects. “He’s short a guide and needs someone to drive the boat.”

“Lucky you” She said sarcastically, screwing the lid back on her bottle. “Another weekend spent with men twice your age who have zero ability to catch a fish and even less ability to smell nice.” 

“It’s good money.” You said flatly, annoyed that everything seemed to revolve around men with her. “And in case you forgot I’m kinda in need of that at the moment.”

Lizzy licked her lips and put her hands up, dipping her head. 

“Alright...noted. Chill out Kemosabe.” She giggled under her breath and looked out her window, drawing a small penis in the moisture on the window.

“Babe, seriously. You need to get laid.” You said, shaking your head.

“I know” She replied, working on the veins. “Trust me. Im in a state of national emergency by this time of year.”

Lizzy was absolutely one of the girliest girls (and most beautiful girls) in the south of Alaska, which was ironic considering the house she grew up in. Her dad was an overweight German restaurant entrepreneur who had opened a world class seafood restaurant in Juneau back in the 90s and had shacked up with her mother who was this drop dead gorgeous Haida warrior woman who you had literally seen kill and skin a bear with her own hands. 

They had forged this chain of restaurants local to Alaska that people flew hundreds of miles to eat at, but still lived in an off-grid cabin that hadn’t been insulated since 1960 and used wood heating. Not really the type of family that screamed southern belle femininity - yet somehow Lizzy came out of that union with a pink bed set, refusing to ever wear camo or sweatpants, and still had never shot a gun - which her mother reminded her of weekly. 

Lizzy had hit puberty at 10 and had used her breast advantage over every girl in your class for the next 3 years like some sort of distinction of better genetics, as if she needed boobs to prove that. Unlike you, she was naturally thin and tall (6ft to be precise), had long, thick straight black hair and olive skin, and perfect hips. You felt like a prepubescent boy standing next to her, with your uneven complexion and your frizz and your awkward thigh fat distribution. You were envious of her genetics - her mother graced her with the body of an athlete and the thick black hair, and her father had given her height and cheekbones that could slice through glass. You looked down at your arms, covered in freckles, pasty white from lack of sun, and cringed, looking back at the road.

You turned the corner leaving the main road and starting on the dirt road that led to your favourite part of beach access. Lizzy pulled her hoodie out of her backpack and took off her seatbelt, leaning forward to pull it down over her head. You leaned forward and looked up, this was your favourite part of the drive. The dirt road which was lined with moss and ferns and other foliage wound along the base of the snow capped mountain that was at least 1000ft in elevation. The mist and fog from the coast was thick and creeped through the tall cedar trees, black ravens and falcons flying overhead stark against the white mist. This was the most idyllic picture of northwest coastal living you could find.

When you parked at the trail head Lizzy slipped off her work flats and into her Teva’s, you grabbed your yellow Vans out of your trunk and slipped them on. You usually drove bare foot, a habit you had started in high school after Rudy had thrown your shoes off the dock at the restaurant and you had to drive home without any. You grabbed your sweater and your backpack which had the beer in it. As you were both gathering the rest of your things...beach blanket, hats, and rain cover, you heard a car pull up behind you. You stood up out of the trunk and squinted to see the car through the fog. It was a black ford pickup you had never seen before. 

“Who’s that?” Lizzy chimed in from behind you.

“No clue” You said as you lifted your hand to wave once. 

The truck had tinted windows and looked brand new. When it pulled up beside you, the drivers side window began to unroll, revealing Junior - your high school (ex) sweetheart.

“Holy” You said, eyebrows up, nodding. “Nice truck - where’d you steal it from?” He rolled his eyes at you dramatically.

“Whatever kid - its a rental. Got it to drive to the airport in.” His chest puffed out and his expression read so proud. 

“Airport?” You said inquisitively. “Since when does Alan pay you to drive new trucks to the airport?” 

“Since Rudy hired him for the pick up service and apparently is incapable of driving his own ass around anymore” Junior snorted and waved at Lizzy.

“Or he doesn’t have a car here anymore” You noted, rolling your eyes at him.

“Either way, I get this bad boy for the next 24 hours and I intend to give her the royal grand tour of our humble town.” He ran his hand up and down the steering wheel, stroking the new leather. “Wanna go for a rip?” He said, winking. You shook your head and crossed your arms over your chest. 

“Well I do” Lizzy piped up from beside you, walking closer to the window. She smiled at Junior and began to put her hair in a pony tail. She nudged your arm as she began to walk to the passenger side door. “Come on, granny. Let’s go!”

She laughed as she climbed up into the truck, but you shook your head again.

“I’m good...you kids have fun. Say hi to Rudy for me” You said to Junior, who shrugged his head and muttered ‘definitely wont do that’ under his breath.

Lizzy blew a kiss at you and waved once before Junior put it in drive and started to go up the dirt road north of you. 

Junior and you had ended on okay terms, but he had concocted a theory that you had broken up with him because of another guy, and the unspoken suggestion was that that guy had been Rudy. Small town guys had a heck of a time with the idea of girls and guys just being friends. 

You sighed and watched as the truck disappeared around the corner, and turned back to your own car. You grabbed your backpack and slammed the trunk closed, walking down the path alone. You weren’t mad at Lizzy for going with him - she was flighty and bailed on you at the bar all the time - but you were mad the beer was going to go warm before you could drink it all. Not that you should even be drinking 6 beers alone by the water when you had to drive yourself home. Doubtful the 2 cops in this town would even be awake to see you though. Whatever.

You reached the end of the path and rounded the corner, revealing the coast line and the rocky beach. It was your favourite place to sit and think, sit and smoke, sit and be yourself. The beach curled in a U shape, giving you a private spot where the rest of the shoreline was blocked from view and all you could see was the ominous cedar forest that stretched up the mountain, the snow caps at the top, and the horizon over the cold pacific.

You had intended to share the joint you had in your pocket with Lizzie, but...well, her loss. You spread the blanket out on the softest patch of sand and rocks you could find (which still meant you were guaranteed to get at least 2 rocks in the ass) and placed your bag down, kicking off your sneakers. You took a deep breath for the first time in a few days and lit the joint, taking one long, deep inhale. You felt it tingle through your chest and your arms and legs almost immediately, relaxing you. Being here alone always sent you into a spiral of memories and thoughts that you worked hard during the day to suppress. Most insistent lately had been thoughts about your health problems. You called them ‘health problems’ but in reality it was just an eating disorder. You could go 2, sometimes 3 days without eating anything, and never felt hungry. It started after graduation.

You had lost weight, dramatically, going from a stable 120-125 to 95 at most and 90 at worst, in the span of a month. And for the next three years you had never gained it back, you had stayed at a relatively stable 95, which still left you looking sickly and too thin at 5’3”. Your frame wasn’t built for that kind of weight drop, you were Scottish and Cree, sprinkled with a little bit of German and Irish. A classic northwest cracker mix. You weren’t naturally small, you always had a bit of something to grab onto, but it was normal to your body, healthy. 

Some part of your brain knew that it had something to do with leaving school...and the pretence that came with that. The expectation...the responsibility. You were never that kind of person, and it never really bothered you, but suddenly it had. You never planned to go to University right away, but you had no back up plan. It wasn't something you and your friends really talked about. But suddenly Jacob had gotten into U of Washington, Dan had left to backpack Europe, and Rudy had not so graciously announced he was deferring his acceptance and scholarship to culinary school because he wanted to be an actor, and flew to LA the next month. You had been left behind, with Lizzy of all people, and it had hit you hard.

You looked around the beach, dragging on your joint quicker than normal, trying to knock the thoughts out of your head. An Eagle screeched above - scaring you - and you laid back on the blanket, closing your eyes. You needed to chill the hell out. This was the first time in a few weeks that you had gotten a night off from helping your dad with his guide business and you didn’t plan on wasting it riddling your brain with anxiety and worrying about your body.

You looked up at the sky and watched the mist and fog kiss the clouds, the sunset colours dancing across them. As it usually did, the rain had stopped just as the sun was going down, the clouds parting briefly and letting the smallest sliver of sunlight through, just enough to burn the grey light out of the sky and allow the pink and orange hues to fade along the horizon. You sat up and cracked a beer, enjoying the fresh smelling air and the rhythmic sound of the waves licking the shore line. 

Two beers in you had put on your jacket and placed your Bluetooth speaker next to you on the blanket, blasting a playlist that Rudy had made you for your graduation party.

Three beers in you took the jacket off, standing up and dancing by yourself on the beach to the music.

Four beers in you laid down on the blanket, balled your jacket up and used it as a pillow, and started looking for shapes in the stars.

Five beers in you fell sleep.

———

Many hours later, as the sun rose and was bright on the water and the early morning bird feed was in full swing overhead, you were drifting in and out of sleep to the squawking when a shadow came across your face, alerting you to groggily open your eyes.

“What’s up, Little Fern?” His voice had gotten deeper. Wait, what?

You opened your eyes and blinked, raising a hand to block the sun. There, in your very awake and very not dreaming state, was the unmistakable silhouette that you had spent the last 18 years dreaming about and 18 years being a friend to.

Rudy.

#rudy pankow #reader x rudy #depth over distance #nakedmossywrites #jj maybank #outer banks #obx